


This is Sabotage

by shadowblade_tara



Series: This is Sabotage [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Novel Length, Spec ops y'all, and the ops teams kick ass and take names, badass jazz, badass prowl, how bayverse should have gone, includes destruction of praxus, that AU where the autobots don't completely suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowblade_tara/pseuds/shadowblade_tara
Summary: They are synonymous with death to all who cross them. The best the Autobot forces have. And that was before the new tactial officer Prowl joined their ranks.  This is Jazz's team, and they don't know how to lose.  Cross-posted from FF.net under same pen name.





	1. first impressions

It takes a special kind of mech to be a special ops tactician.

Gunner knows this. As head of Ultra Magnus’ special ops teams, he knows all too well how a tactical officer can make or break a spec ops team. He’s seen tacticians break under the pressure – and consequently break the teams as well.

And now he’s watching it happen all over again.

In his defense, Firestar was never cut out for this. His tactics work best when he has time to think about what’s going on and assess all possible outcomes. He’s panicking, close to breaking, and this time he’s going to kill them all. Out of the five-mech team that went in, only two are still alive – Gunner’s second, Jazz, and the spy Mirage.

“I need five minutes!” Firestar says, typing furiously on his data pad. Gunner has to give the mech credit – he’s trying. It’s just not enough. “Please, Jazz, hold your position for five more minutes!”

_“We don’ got five minutes, mech!”_ And there’s Jazz, not quite panicking but clearly in no position to attempt calm for Firestar’s sake. _“We got thirty seconds, tops. Get us outta here!”_

“I’m trying!”

The doors slide open and another mech walks in. He’s one of the new tactical, Gunner knows – a black and white Praxian who rarely speaks and for the most part keeps to himself. He’s not part of Magnus’ team. He’s just on a holdover until his new unit is ready for him. Gunner dismisses him quickly. He’s not part of the equation. His specialty is going to be large-scale combat. He’s of no use to Gunner.

Still, the Praxian walks right up to Firestar’s computer and takes in the intel. He can clearly see the problem – there’s only one way out and in, and there’s at least 20 Decepticons standing on the other side of that exit. The door will only hold for so long. They’re going to die. Firestar’s hands are shaking, coolant tears sliding down his cheeks as he realizes he’s going to lose them all.

The Praxian reaches past him and pushes the comm button. “Jazz, this is Tactical Officer Prowl. Do you copy?”

“What are you doing?” Gunner demands. Prowl ignores him in favor of the display screen.

_“Loud ‘n clear, Prowl.”_

“Good. I need you to do exactly as I say, and I will get you out of this alive.”

Jazz chuckles tiredly. _“Don’ need yer empty promises, mech. Just need a plan.”_

Prowl’s optics darken considerably. They’re almost black now. “Good. Here is your plan.”

What he suggests is dangerous and insane. Gunner watches the screen intently, wondering if Jazz will go for it. To his shock, the response is short and terse. _“Got it.”_

As Prowl predicted, they lose contact with the team. Comms are down, and Firestar has to leave the room. He’s shaking too hard, completely useless to the team as he is. This might be his last ops mission, Gunner muses, assuming Jazz and Mirage make it back. Prowl stands there a moment longer, staring blankly at the screen. Gunner watches him. 

“What are you waiting for?” he asks finally.

“A message of execution.” Prowl replies tersely. “If this didn’t work, in two minutes, we will know. The Decepticons will use Jazz’s transmission to tell us we lost our team. If we don’t hear in two minutes, then they lived, and the plan worked.”

Gunner nods, surprised by the confidence in Prowl’s voice. “And if they made it?” 

Prowl spares him a glance. “Then you will need to send a retrieval team.” He returns his attention to the screen with an intensity that Gunner has only ever seen once before. It’s the same intensity that made him pay more attention to Jazz than the others and make him his second on the team. A slow smile spreads across his face.

“I hear you’re destined for large-scale combat.”

“That is where Optimus Prime wants me.”

“I think you might be better suited to special ops.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitch. One fist clenches ever so briefly, and Gunner has to laugh at that. “You know it, too. That’s why you’re in here. You’re trying to learn from Firestar.”

That gets his first honest reaction out of the mech. He snorts. “Hardly. Firestar is a good mech, but he’s no spec ops mech. I came here because I heard there was trouble. I wanted to see if I could help.”

At that moment, precisely three minutes later, the comms flare to life once again. _“This is Jazz. We’re out. We made it out.”_

A small smile flickers across Prowl’s face. “Thank Primus.” he whispers. Louder, he adds, “We’re sending help. Hang in there, Jazz.”

_“Roger tha’. Thanks, mech.”_

/-------/

Prowl leaves before Jazz gets back.

Gunner considers the options as he meets his mechs in the med bay. Surprisingly, they’re not very injured considering the exit they had to take. He stands there quietly as Mirage gives the report – Jazz is completely distracted, not even complaining as the medic does his work.

At the end, Gunner nods. “All right. Thank you, Mirage. I want both of you to get some rest. Firestar needs to be cleared by psych – “

“No.”

Jazz’s voice cuts across Gunner’s words. He blinks. “You don’t think Firestar will be cleared?”

“Ah’m sayin’ Ah don’ want that mech anywhere near mah team.” Jazz retorts. 

“We need tactical, Jazz.” Mirage says quietly. “Everyone knows that. Spec ops need a real-time tactical advantage.”

“Ah know that, ‘Raj. But not Firestar.” Jazz crosses his arms over his chassis and glares up at Gunner. “Ah want Prowl.”

Gunner grins. This he was totally anticipating. “Prowl isn’t one of ours.”

“Well _make him_ one.”

“You want me to go up to Optimus Prime and ask him for his tactical officer back?”

“Yep.”

Gunner shakes his head. “He won’t go for it.”

Jazz grins. There is nothing kind about his smile. “He will if he wants us runnin’ ops. I ain’ goin’ back out there without Prowl in mah ear. He got us out of there alive.”

Gunner nods. “I’ll consider that. In the meantime, get some rest. I mean it, both of you. You earned it.” With that he walks out of the med bay.

This could be entertaining.

/-----------/

_“You want what?”_

Yeah, this is going about as well as Gunner imagined. Optimus looks less than thrilled to hear from him, even through the vid screen. “You heard me. There’s a mech named Prowl – “

_“I know who Prowl is. He is assigned to my unit as a combat tactical officer.”_

“With all due respect, Prime, that’s a waste of his talents.” Gunner says calmly. “He’s much better suited to ops.” The battle mask hides Prime’s scowl, but Gunner knows he’s scowling anyway. Perks of being ops. “He walked into that situation, assessed it, and had a workable plan in literally about 20 seconds. That’s impressive. No one I’ve ever met can do that.”

Optimus sighs. _“Gunner, I hear you. But Prowl is my mech, and I won’t assign him to ops so young. Ops wears on mechs in a way regular battles don’t.”_

Before Gunner can argue the point, the door to the meeting room opens and Jazz waltzes in. He nods to Gunner before turning his focus to Optimus. “Sorry, Gunner – diplomacy ain’ gettin’ us anywhere.” he says. “Look, Prime – Ah get that Prowl is _yer mech_ , but mah team _needs him._ He saved our afts. We ain’ goin’ back out without him. Are we clear?”

There’s a very long silence as Optimus just stares at Jazz and Gunner tries to hide his laughter. Slowly, very slowly, Optimus nods. 

_“A trial run. You have him for two months, then he’s back with my team. Clear?”_

Jazz flashes him a wicked grin. “Crystal.”

Gunner finally snorts in laughter. In two months, Prowl will be Jazz’s mech. He can already tell.


	2. let's make this official

Prowl becomes aware that something has changed when the transport turns around mid-air. He pulls out his data pad and quickly hacks into the Autobot personnel files. His new orders are there, plain as day, along with a notification to contact Optimus Prime as soon as he is able. Prowl can’t help but smirk.

Looks like fate is on his side after all.

Gunner meets him at the entrance to the base when he returns. He looks vastly amused above all else. “Looks like we’ve got you for two whole months.” he says.

Prowl nods. “So I suspected. It’s a good thing you caught me in Syph – if my transport had made it to Iacon, Prime might have decided to keep me.”

“Nah. There’s a mech I think would hunt you down if that happened.” Gunner says easily. He motions for Prowl to follow him and guides him into the base. “As you know, right now our spec ops team is rather limited. I’ve got 10 new trainees coming in from the Academy, but for now, you’ll be working with just Jazz and Mirage.”

Prowl nods. “What were their injuries?”

“All things considered, minimal. They were released from the med bay three days after we got them back.”

Prowl relaxes a little at that, although his face doesn’t show his relief. He has no doubt Gunner can see it either way. “That is good.” he murmurs.

“That is very good.” Gunner agrees. He stops in the rec room, which is completely empty at this time of night. He turns to face Prowl, expression completely serious for once. “Look. I’ve done my research on you. Your talents are excellent, beyond reproach. Your personal reputation, on the other hand, is kind of frightening. Most mechs peg you as being too in control when they’re feeling generous, and sparkless when they’re not.”

Prowl clenches his fist. “I’m very well aware of the rumors.” he says. “I will not apologize for doing my job and doing it well.”

“To the exclusion of personal relationships?”

“It is difficult for me to relate to others, even without my ambition, but I am not friendless.” Prowl replies dryly. “Neither am I emotionless. If the others cannot see it, I do not feel the need to enlighten them. All that matters is keeping the mechs that I have been entrusted with alive.”

Gunner considers those words for a moment before nodding. “I can work with that. Follow me – it’s late, so introductions can wait until tomorrow. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“Ah got ‘im, mech.”

Both mechs turn to see a visored black and white mech – from Polyhex, if the accent is anything to go by – standing in the doorway of the rec room. Gunner nods. “I leave him to you, then.” With that he turns and walks away.

The new mech waits until they’re alone before approaching Prowl. Prowl just stands there, mildly curious, until the mech is an arm’s length away. “Designation Jazz. Ya saved mah life.” He sticks out his hand. “Thank ya.”

Slowly, Prowl reaches out and shakes his hand. “Designation Prowl. And it was my pleasure.” He tilts his helm to the side, studying Jazz intently. “I’m guessing you’re the one who put up enough of a fuss to get Prime to transfer me?”

Jazz grins. “What can Ah say? Ah like havin’ the best on mah team.”

Prowl raises an optic ridge. “I’m still technically in training.” he points out. “I know you’ve read my file.”

“Ah did.” Jazz says unrepentantly. “An’ if that’s what ya can do while yer in trainin’, Ah’m lookin’ forward ta findin’ out what ya can do when ya finish.” He pauses for a moment, tilting his helm as he examines Prowl. It’s like being put under a microscope, but Prowl refuses to flinch. Jazz grins. “Ah also know yer pretty young ta have gotten this far.”

“I am not a sparkling, Jazz.” Prowl says, an edge to his voice that he can’t quite hide and doesn’t try too hard to. His age has always been a point of contention between him and his comrades.

Jazz holds up a hand, stalling him. “Ah know. Even if ya were age-wise – which ya ain’ – ya definitely not in yer spark. No sparklin’ could have pulled off what ya did.” He grins. “Welcome ta mah team, Prowler. Let’s get ya settled in.”

_Prowler._ No one has ever given him a nickname before. Prowl simply follows Jazz to the barracks. They don’t speak much. Jazz points out various places of interest as they go (along with what areas to avoid) and Prowl nods and commits them to memory. They stop in front of a particular door and Jazz keys it open. 

“Raj! We got our mech!”

That startles Prowl. “You share quarters with your teammates?” he asks.

“Always.” Mirage says, approaching the door. “Usually tactical doesn’t stay with us – I imagine Gunner would have taken you to the regular quarters – but Jazz wanted you here with us for a while.” He reaches out and shakes Prowl’s hand. “I’m Mirage – the other mech you saved.” He doesn’t say thank you or anything, and for that Prowl is grateful. Jazz lets the door close behind him.

“Ya c’n take th’ bunk in the back.” he says, pointing it out. Prowl nods and proceeds to make himself at home. He’s not surprised to be moved to the back. The TO is one of the most important positions on an ops team (the first being the leader), and this bunk is the most easily defended.

He doesn’t recharge well that night, but that will change. This is a step in the right direction. Prowl knows it.

/--------/

The next morning, Prowl reports in to Optimus Prime. The connection is secure, and Magnus has cleared the communications room so he won’t be interrupted. More importantly, there are things that need to be said that would reveal a truth Prowl does not want anyone else finding out.

 

Prime has his battle mask removed for the moment. _“I’m glad your transport made it back in one piece.”_

Prowl nods. “You did not have me contact you just so you could wish me well, Optimus.” he says quietly. Prime flinches a little, but he nods reluctantly.

_“What were you thinking poking your nose into ops matters?”_

“Would you rather I have left those mechs to die?”

_“You know exactly how I feel about special ops.”_

Prowl snorts. “You deem them a necessary evil. Something you can’t deny we need, but it flies in the face of your weird morality. For some reason, you think having special ops makes us more Decepticon-like.” Prime nods. Prowl shakes his helm. “You know it doesn’t.”

_“Underhanded tactics are Megatron’s specialty.”_

“Yes, but Megatron has all the subtlety of a thrown brick.” the younger mech retorts. “Our mechs can actually get the job done with a minimal amount of collateral damage.”

For a long moment, the two just stare at each other. Finally, Optimus sighs. _“You know, creations are not supposed to be wiser than their creators.”_ There’s a lifetime of warmth in those words, and Prowl’s doorwings relax a hair. _“I have never understood your need for ops.”_

“It’s nothing I can explain.” Prowl admits. “But I know this is where I need to be.”

Optimus nods. _“I gave Gunner two months.”_

“I doubt Jazz will let me go after that.” Prowl retorts, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Jazz is the driving force behind Gunner’s top team. He wants nothing but the best to protect his mechs.”

_“You sound like you already respect him.”_

“I do.”

_“All right, Prowl. It seems there’s nothing I can do about it. Two months – if Gunner and Jazz still want you on the team, you’ll stay there. But I’m still going to worry – that’s my job.”_

“Worry about the army.” Prowl says with a smile. “I can take care of myself.” With that said, they sign off. 

Jazz waits for him just outside the comms room. Prowl pauses. “How much did you hear?” he asks hesitantly. Jazz flashes him a grin.

“Enough. Don’ worry about me. Ah got my own secret with Magnus.”

Understanding flashes across Prowl’s face, and he smiles. “Thank you.”

“C’mon. We got trainin’ ta do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you guys so much for the reviews and support, I'm loving it! For those of you who follow this story over on FF.net, it's a double update for you. For those of you who are just hanging around on this site, I'll be updating rather frequently as I get to internet access. I'm aiming for every Friday, but as you can tell, that didn't happen this time. So you'll get updates at least once a week, maybe more.


	3. learning each other

Until the first of the new mechs come in from the Academy, Jazz and Mirage are on vacation. The higher-ups view it as a great chance for the high strung mechs to relax and enjoy themselves.

Prowl sees differently.

He watches Jazz and Mirage in the sparring room. The fight has gotten vicious enough to clear out the area. No one wants to be on the wrong side of the clearly agitated ops mechs. There’s a dent in the far wall where Mirage threw Jazz into it. That was when someone went to get Prowl. 

What he’s seeing now is the tail end of the fight. Both mechs are clearly exhausted. They’re going to drop soon, but once their energy levels rise, this is going to happen again. Prowl crosses his arms over his chassis and considers.

Before the two mechs can realize (or acknowledge) he’s there, Prowl is gone. He needs Ultra Magnus’ approval for what he plans to do.

/----------/

“So let me get this straight.” Magnus says dryly. “You want permission to take over use of the science wing so Jazz and Mirage can play what basically amounts to paintball.”

Prowl inclines his head. “Essentially, yes.”

“Why?”

“Training, sir.”

Magnus shakes his helm. “They’re on vacation. That means no training. They’re on this vacation until the new mechs come in.”

Prowl’s fist clenches, but it’s the only sign of his rising aggravation. “May I speak freely, Magnus?”

“You may.”

“You’re treating the ops mechs like you would normal soldiers. This is possibly the dumbest thing you’ve done aside from assigning Firestar to be their tactician.” Magnus bristles, but Prowl continues. “Jazz and Mirage are not normal mechs. Downtime does nothing for them but make them even more aggravated. This is only making an already tense situation worse. They need to train, they need to be running ops, and barring both of those, they need to be doing _something constructive_.”

“So your solution is to make them play paintball.”

“My solution is to set up a scenario that allows them to at least pretend like they’re training and allow them to burn off excess energy without killing each other.” Prowl retorts. “I’m sure you’ve gotten the reports by now. Jazz and Mirage are still fighting – and yes, it’s as bad as the reports seem.”

Magnus sighs and leans back in his chair. “You have a point.” he admits. “Every time they have downtime, this slag happens. Very well – you may have your science wing. But on one condition.” Prowl inclines his helm. “Use Wheeljack in the simulations.”

“Wheeljack.” Prowl hesitates for a moment as he brings up everything he knows about the mech. Inventor, engineer, and completely volatile. His inventions are more likely to explode than actually work the way he intends. Complete disregard for safety or rules. Slowly, he smiles. “He will do very nicely.”

“I’m glad you approve. Now go plot elsewhere. You have a terrifying smile.”

Prowl doesn’t bother to acknowledge that. He simply nods his thanks and leaves to find Wheeljack. 

/-------/

Three days later, Jazz finally manages to corner Prowl in the ops quarters. “Whatcha plannin’, mech?”

Prowl merely looks up from his datapad. “What makes you assume I’m planning anything?”

“Ya’ve been sneakin’ around.” he retorts. “Ah see why yer creators called ya Prowl.” Prowl merely smirks. Jazz returns the grin. “So Ah ask again – whatcha plannin’?”

Prowl’s datapad beeps at him. He checks the message and grins. “A surprise for you and Mirage, and it’s ready now. Come and see.” He stands up and motions for Jazz to follow him. Jazz does, comming Mirage and having the mech join them on the way out.

It surprises Jazz to be led to the science wing, of all places. Magnus doesn’t have much to do with the sciences. That’s usually Optimus Prime’s mechs. Wheeljack uses the place as an area to test his inventions with minimal risk to the rest of the base. In fact, the inventor meets them at the entrance. Prowl nods to him. “Thank you for setting this up.”

“Not a problem.” Jack says cheerfully. “Always happy to help the ops. Here you go.” He hands Prowl three modified weapons and heads off again. “Just tell me I can keep the footage.” he calls over his shoulder. Prowl merely arches an optic ridge.

“Assuming we don’t take out the cameras.” he says with a small amount of amusement. Jack laughs and leaves the area. Jazz turns his attention to Prowl.

“Got somethin’ ya wanna tell us?”

“We’re going to play a game.” Prowl replies. He hands Jazz and Mirage a rifle. “Paint pellets. We each have a different colored paint. There are also paint bombs rigged throughout the labs. We have six hours to play. Whoever scores the most hits wins. However, if you get hit by a bomb – you’re out.”

There’s a moment silence while Jazz and Mirage consider this. Slowly, Mirage grins.

“Well, hell – I’m in.”

Jazz laughs. “Let’s do it, mechs!”

/-----------/

Gunner comes back from his training endeavor rather surprised to find his mechs missing. Magnus meets him in the rec room. Gunner glances over at him. “So where are Jazz and Mirage?”

“With Prowl in the science wing.” Magnus replies. “Actually, they might be done by now.”

“Done doing what?”

“Ask Prowl. Apparently he came up with an idea to help them blow off some steam without killing each other or scaring the slag out of everyone else.”

That’s impressive. Gunner has been trying to tell Magnus for years that downtime is a bad idea for his mechs. 

Before he can say anything else – I told you so, maybe – the doors to the rec room slide open and Jazz, Mirage, and Prowl enter the room. Mirage and Jazz are laughing, Prowl smiling to himself, and all three mechs are covered in neon purple, orange, and green paint. It surprises Gunner to see how relaxed all three are. It surprises him even more to know that Prowl is walking behind Jazz, and Jazz isn’t looking constantly to keep watch on him.

Jazz doesn’t even let _Gunner_ walk behind him like that, not without constantly checking his position. 

Magnus smiles. “Looks like his plan worked. I think I’ll let them keep the science wing.”

Gunner grins. “I think I want to keep Prowl. He’s good for them.”

“He’s good for Jazz.” Magnus retorts. “I may have to have words with Optimus. He owes me a favor anyway.”

“I can’t picture him letting you keep his tactician.” Gunner retorts. “He’s got his optic on Prowl for some reason. Although for what, when it’s clear that Prowl was sparked for ops, is beyond me.”

“Let me handle Optimus. You keep Prowl with Jazz. Keep me updated on them.”

Gunner nods as he watches the three mechs get energon and commandeer a table, completely ignoring most of the other mechs around them. Jazz parks himself right next to Prowl, almost in the mech’s lap, and Prowl merely tolerates the extra attention with a small smile.

“I don’t think we have to worry about that.” he muses quietly.


	4. learning each other pt 2

Prowl is like most spec ops mechs – he doesn’t blow off steam quite the same way everyone else does. In fact, Jazz isn’t sure he’s actually seen the mech do anything for fun. Ever.

He’s heard the rumors. Hard not to when he works so closely with the mech. They really started after they got Bumblebee from the Academy. Bee knows Prowl through reputation only, and he’s nervous about working with the mech. When Jazz asks why, he doesn’t get the answer he’s expecting.

“Haven’t you noticed? The mech is practically sparkless. He doesn’t even have emotions.”

Jazz’s reaction to that was to simply walk away. He can’t afford to kick Bee off the team just because they don’t see optic to optic on Prowl. But it makes him start watching, and he doesn’t like what he sees.

It’s clear the other mechs share Bee’s opinion. Prowl may not be the friendliest of mechs, but he _is_ friendly, and he does show his emotions. It’s – distressing – to see the others keep him at arm’s distance just because he expresses himself differently than they do. 

_“I need you to do exactly as I say, and I will get you out of this alive.”_

Those were not the words of an emotionless mech. That was a promise that Prowl delivered on, and Jazz determines to learn more about this mech that saved his life. At some point, in between the training and the ops they’re finally allowed to run again, Jazz will get to know this elusive mech.

/--------/

When Jazz wakes up, Prowl is not in the room.

He checks his chronometer. It’s late, very late. Every sane mech should be in recharge. Jazz is instantly on alert. Bee is recharging peacefully, but Mirage is awake. Jazz pings his comm, not wanting to wake their newest member just yet.

::How long?::

::Maybe two minutes. That’s how long I’ve been up, and he couldn’t have been gone much longer than that.::

::He leave on his own?::

::That’s my assumption. He would have made a fuss otherwise.::

Jazz isn’t so sure on that, but he keeps his opinion on that to himself. He can think of three reasons why Prowl would leave without alerting anyone, and it makes his tanks churn. ::Stay here with Bee. Ah’m gonna go find him.::

::Roger that, boss.::

Jazz slinks through the hallways, checking every place Prowl could conceivably be. The science wing is empty, the rec room quiet, the tactical room barren. Finally, he checks with the femme on comms duty for the night. “Hey, ya know where Prowl is?”

“Down in the training room.” she says. “Security cameras picked him up about 10 minutes ago. Figured you wouldn’t be too far behind.”

Jazz has to smirk at that. His protectiveness of his team is the stuff of legends. “He okay?”

“Don’t know. Looks like he’s just burning off some steam. I never bothered to turn on the sound.”

“All righ’, Ah’ll take care of him. Thanks, Chromia.” She just waves at him as he leaves for the training room.

The door slides open at his touch, and the sound that assaults his audios is almost deafening. It’s not the kind of music he pictured Prowl liking, either. For some reason, he always suspected Prowl of being a more classical kind of mech, but this is screaming metal. Metal. 

And Prowl is _dancing_ to it.

Well, dancing is the wrong word. At second glance, Jazz realizes that Prowl is actually practicing a martial art routine, timing his moves to the beat of the music. He has targets set up all around the room for him to hit, the lights are dim and the music is loud, and _damned_ if that’s not the hottest thing Jazz has ever seen. So he just stands there at the door, watching with complete fascination.

Prowl missteps, his timing off and the technique sloppy, but instead of getting angry, he simply laughs. He resumes his stance, waits for the right beat, and begins again. Jazz watches the entire thing, visor bright, a small smile on his face.

He waits until the music is over to speak.

“So _this_ is how ya relax.”

His voice isn’t that loud, but he has Prowl’s attention. The Praxian just chuckles. “It’s the closest I can come to actual dancing.” he admits, turning to face Jazz. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Hell yeah.” No point in lying. “Yer damned good, Prowler.” He tilts his helm to the side. “Why not spar wit’ us? Ya’ll git more enjoyment outta it.”

Prowl offers a small smile. “It’s not the fighting part, although I really enjoy that. It’s the music.”

Jazz frowns slightly at that. Suddenly, he gets it. “It’s th’ fact that it’s not part of the job.” he says quietly. “Ya c’n practice yer moves and not worry about messing up. Ya c’n have fun wit’ it.”

“Exactly. Like the paintball games.”

“Except yer a martial artist, an’ shooting doesn’t quite do it fer ya.” Jazz crosses his arms over his chassis and considers. “All right, then. Wanna dance wit’ meh?”

Prowl examines him for a moment. Slowly, he nods. “Sure. I would like that.”

The next song starts as both mechs fall back into fighting stances. Jazz’s stance is a little sloppy, while Prowl’s contains a precision Jazz can’t hope to match. The difference between a street fighter and a martial artist. They take a moment to find the new beat, and Prowl makes the first move.

Neither of them actually attempt to hit each other, although contact is made when they misstep. They’re soft, glancing blows, barely even leaving dents, and Jazz finds himself laughing every time they screw up. They start off slow, but as they get used to each other, they start building up momentum and stop hitting each other. A strike, a parry, a kick, a dodge. All keeping to a beat Jazz never thought about trying to _fight to_. It takes a certain amount of concentration from both of them. 

They manage to make it through two songs without hitting each other. Prowl’s small smile keeps getting wider, wilder, and suddenly he’s laughing – an honest _laugh_ , not his usual chuckles – and Jazz can’t help but laugh in return.

“There ya are!”

Prowl tilts his helm, but never loses that smile, that wildness about him. “Did I go somewhere?”

Jazz gently taps Prowl’s chassis with his fist. “This is th’ mech Ah keep gettin’ glimpses of. Ya hide yerself well, Prowler. ‘m glad Ah got th’ chance ta see ya.”

Prowl considers this for a moment. “I am not the easiest mech to get to know.” he says finally. They’ve stopped moving, but the music continues in the background. “You are the first mech to even try, despite my distance.”

“Ya do that on purpose?”

“No. It’s just how I am.”

Jazz stares at him. Finally, he just shakes his helm. “Not anymore, mech. Ya got me an’ Mirage. Bee’ll come around eventually. Ya got mah team now. Yer not alone anymore.” That said, he turns around and walks out of the training room. Prowl will come back when he’s ready.

“Jazz?” 

He glances behind him. Prowl just stares at him, expression calm despite his trembling doorwings. Jazz inclines his helm in question. Prowl meets his gaze evenly. “You are not alone, either. Not as long as I am alive.”

Those words carry weight to them. Jazz smiles. “Ya promise?”

“I’ll pinky swear on it if you would like.”

Jazz laughs. “No need fer that, mech. Ah trust ya. Ah always will.”


	5. too good at what you do

The downside to being good at what you do is that everyone wants you.

Gunner knows this better than anyone. There’s a reason he’s head of Magnus’ spec ops. He’s better at the politics of things than Jazz is, and Jazz is the only mech around that’s as good at things as Gunner is. So Gunner keeps things between the ops teams and the higher-ups running smooth, and Jazz takes care of the actual ops.

Then there’s Prowl, who’s so good at the tactical side of things that Gunner has had him officially cut from training for the moment. If they can convince Optimus to let them keep the mech, he’ll never have to go through training again. Prowl is simply sparked for spec ops planning.

He’s a little too good at what he does, just like Jazz. So it doesn’t surprise Gunner when Hot Rod comes to him asking for Prowl to run an op. 

The three of them are in Gunner’s office – himself, Prowl, and Hot Rod. Hot Rod gives Prowl a cursory glance-over before turning his full attention to Gunner. “He’ll work for what I need.” he says calmly. “I’ll return him when the op is completed.”

Prowl’s optics flicker from Hot Rod to Gunner. “Sir?”

“He wants to borrow you.” Gunner says.

“I haven’t had time to prepare the team.” Prowl says uncertainly.

Gunner shakes his helm. “No. He wants you to run tactical for his team. You would be doing this on your own.”

Prowl stills completely. “Run an op without my team?”

Hot Rod snorts. “You’re new to this, Prowl, but we do it all the time.” he says. “It’s not uncommon for teams to loan out their best mechs, and you are the best tactical officer I’ve ever seen.”

“I am only as good as my team.” Prow says. “If I’m going to run an op for you, I’m doing it with my team, the team I know and trust. I’m not doing it with yours.”

Gunner snorts. “That’s what I told him you would say.” He turns his attention entirely to Prowl. “This is the way we do things. You’re going to have to get used to it. There will be times when other units will borrow Jazz or Mirage. There’s nothing new about this.”

Prowl’s optics darken. “Maybe some things need to change.” he says softly. From anyone else, it would have been funny. From Prowl, it sounds more like a promise – or a threat. For a moment, the tactician just stares at both of them. Hot Rod gives him an expectant look.

“You can either come willingly, or I can have Magnus order it.” he says flatly. “But Prowl – this is the world of ops. If you’re worried about Jazz’s reaction, he will understand.”

“I am not worried about his reaction.” Prowl says quietly. “They are my team. The only other tactical officer here with ops experience is Firestar, and Jazz no longer trusts him. My worry is that they will be sent out and killed while I am being _loaned out._ ” His fist clenches. “I will have the same worry when you call on Jazz to be _loaned out_ , and I am stuck here unable to watch his back.” 

Hot Rod shakes his helm. “That’s not your concern.”

The expression that crosses Prowl’s face is concerning. Gunner doesn’t know what to call it – frustration, anger, surprise – it could be any or all of the above, or something else entirely, and Gunner worries. He’s used to being able to read mechs like a book, but Prowl has a talent for hiding what he’s truly thinking until it’s too late to try to change his mind. 

“I need to discuss things with Jazz.” Prowl says finally. His voice is completely bland, giving no hint to what he’s actually thinking. Only his near-black optics prove that he’s thinking anything. “If I am to be loaned out, then he will need to be prepared for it.” He offers a small bow, a sign of respect, and leaves the room.

Hot Rod turns to Gunner. “Something tells me we’re about to regret this.” he says dryly.

Gunner nods. “You and me both, mech.”

/--------/

The rec room is empty (thankfully) when Prowl finally corners Jazz and explains the situation to him. Jazz can only sigh and lean back in his chair. “Ah ain’ surprised.” he says tiredly. “It was only a matter of time before someone realized ya were that good an’ borrowed ya.”

“I don’t like it.” Prowl says. “I don’t know these mechs, and I don’t know how they operate. And I’m worried about this team.”

Jazz smiles at him and leans against his shoulder. “Ya care way too much about us.” he teases lightly. “We’re th’ best. We’ll wait fer ya ta get back before we start getting’ inta trouble.”

Prowl merely nods. He hesitates a moment, then pulls a datafile from his subspace and gives it to Jazz. The visored mech pauses. “Prowler?”

“I’ve suspected this for a long time now, but I finally have the proof.” Prowl explains. “That file contains some rough outlines of extraction plans. You should be able to build from them pretty quickly, but I’d run some simulations if I were you. Just in case.”

That startles Jazz. “In case of what, mech?” he demands. “Ya think ya won’t – “

Silence falls between them. Of course. Jazz’s protectiveness of his team is matched only by Prowl’s. If Prowl thinks for one second that he might be forced away from his team when they need him most, he will take measures to make sure they survive. Including giving Jazz information he’s not technically supposed to have.

Jazz slides the file into his own subspace. “Ya care way too much about us.” he says finally. “Yer supposed ta keep yer distance in ops.”

Prowl snorts. “Oh, like you do?” he retorts. “This is the reason Optimus never wanted me here. He was hoping the distance of large-scale combat would keep me from becoming too attached.”

“But yer an ops mech at spark.” Jazz says with a small laugh. He puts his helm on Prowl’s shoulder. He’s somewhat surprised Prowl hasn’t shrugged him off yet. Even Mirage, who’s well used to Jazz’s antics, has never tolerated Jazz’s tendency towards physical displays for long. 

That might have more to do with Hound than anything else, but still. Prowl just rolls with it. He rolls with almost everything he’s been dealt so far, but Jazz can feel the tension in his frame, and he knows this time Prowl will only roll so far. “So whatcha gonna do?” he asks finally.

“I suppose I will run this op.” Prowl replies darkly. “But when I get back, I might see how much hell I have to raise to get something changed around here. It’s one thing to assign an op to a different team. It’s a whole different matter to split up a team that’s functioning perfectly to run an op.”

Jazz nods. “Ah wish ya luck. I’ve been beatin’ mah head against that wall fer a while now.”

Prowl smirks. “Yes, but you do not have my contacts. Yet.”

That makes Jazz laugh. “Yer a scary mech, Prowler.” he teases. “’m glad yer on mah side.”

/---------/

Gunner and Jazz watch Prowl leave with Hot Rod the next day. Gunner glances over at Jazz. “He wasn’t happy to be leaving.” he observes. Jazz just grunts. Gunner continues. “It makes me wonder what happened to change his mind.”

“Oh, his mind ain’ changed, Gunner.” Jazz says with a small grin. “He’s jus’ bidin’ his time. That’s all.”

“He thinks he can stop ops mechs from being traded?”

“He’s gonna give it his best.”

“Why? This is how it’s always been done.”

Jazz just shakes his helm. “Ya really don’ know much about him, do ya?” He doesn’t give Gunner a chance to respond. “Prowler knows mah team best. Ya think he wants ta be runnin’ an op without us? With a team that he barely knows? Ya think he doesn’t know all the ways that op can go wrong, just because he don’ know the mechs he’s workin’ with now?”

“He doesn’t want to get anyone killed.”

“Exactly. Mah team or someone else’s.”

Gunner nods. “Well, I’m glad one of us understands him.” He turns to walk away, but pauses for just a moment. “You will let me know if he turns out to be a problem.”

“Ya anticipatin’ him ta be one?”

“Not yet. But I don’t like mechs I can’t read.”

Jazz stays silent while Gunner walks away. With a small sigh, he heads back into the base.


	6. acceptable losses

When the reports come in, Prowl is on patrol. Jazz is almost grateful for this. He stands there in shock, flanked by Mirage and Bee, and he has no clue what to even think.

Praxus, gone?

Impossible.

When Prowl finds out, he insists on heading out there to help with the recovery. Jazz insists on going with him. Mirage and Bee refuse to be left behind. In the end, the entire ops team meet with Optimus on the absolute wreck that used to be Praxus. 

Prowl stares out at the wasteland, optics pale. Jazz stands close enough to him to feel him trembling. “We don’ gotta be here, Prowler.” he says quietly, for the mech’s audios alone. “Ya know that. We c’n always leave this one ta Prime.”

That earns him a small smile. “It may not have been home for long, but it’s still home.” Prowl says quietly. “I need to see this through.” He calls the rest of the team to him with a wave of his hand. “We need to stick together. Mirage, you’re with Jazz. Bumblebee, with me. Stay in contact with us and home base. If anything happens, we need to know about it immediately.” 

The others nod, but Jazz catches the look that crosses Bee’s face. He’s not happy about being paired with Prowl. Still, he agrees with the others and the two head out.

Mirage glances at Jazz. “He’ll figure it out.”

“Ah just hope he does it before he goes an’ frags Prowl off.” Jazz mutters. “Ah don’ care who ya are, there’s only so long a mech c’n go without some kind of positive response from others.”

“He gets that from us.” Mirage points out. “I’m pretty sure you’re _positive_ enough for at least three mechs.”

Jazz smiles at that, but it feels flat even to him. “Let’s go.”

/---------/

Bee can’t stop muttering under his breath.

He’s pretty sure Prowl can’t hear him. Or at the very least, he’s not paying attention. Bee’s okay with this. He’s never been able to see the appeal in Prowl, not the way Jazz and Mirage can. It doesn’t matter how good of a tactician Prowl is, Bee just can’t feel safe around the mech. Hard to when he doesn’t seem to show any emotion or attachment at all.

So he mutters. It’s how he copes. If he happens to be muttering shit about Prowl under his breath, well, who cares. 

Prowl doesn’t say anything about it, anyway. Isn’t that just proof that the rumors are true?

“Bumblebee.”

“What?”

“Be silent.”

Bee stares at him. Prowl has stopped moving, his optics turned off, helm tilted to the side and his doorwings hitched high on his shoulders. Bee frowns. “What are you going on about, mech?” he demands. “We need to keep looking!”

_“Shut up!”_

His mouth snaps shut. He’s trembling in fury, but before he can act, Prowl onlines his optics and takes off to the left, leaving Bee scrambling to keep up.

They don’t go far. Prowl skids down an embankment about thirty meters away from where they began and begins shoving aside rubble. Suddenly, he freezes. Bee crouches at the top of the embankment, watching with curiosity. What the frag is the crazy mech doing?

“There you are.” Prowl murmurs, speaking to something Bee can’t see from this vantage point. He considers jumping down and checking it out, but Jazz has drilled it into his helm often enough to always keep at least one mech on lookout. Prowl is too low to see anything coming at him. In fact, he’s too focused on the object in front of him to be aware of anything else. “I’m called Prowl. What’s your designation?”

Suddenly, Bee hears it. A sniffle. “Bluestreak.”

His optics pale. “Holy shit.” he whispers. 

Prowl smiles. An actual _smile_ , not that twitch of the lips that Bee sometimes sees. “You’re safe now, Bluestreak, I promise you. Can you come to me? I don’t think I can fit in there.”

Bee activates his comm link. ::Bee to Jazz.::

::Jazz here.::

::Get Prime’s medic out here. We found a survivor.::

::Thank Primus.:: Jazz’s utter relief actually manages to shake Bee. ::At least someone found somethin’. Tell Prowl we’re on our way.::

Bee sends back affirmative and cuts the link. He just watches as Prowl continues to smooth-talk the terrified mech (and Primus if he doesn’t look actually younger than Bee himself!) out of hiding and into the open. Bluestreak immediately takes shelter under Prowl’s outstretched arm, and Prowl responds by folding his wings around him and letting the trembling mech cling to him.

It doesn’t escape Bee’s notice that Prowl is trembling as well.

Looks like Jazz was right after all.

/---------/

The search is called off. Jazz’s team stays one final night with Optimus Prime’s crew. Optimus tries to catch Prowl, but as soon as they’re cut loose for the night, Prowl vanishes into the base. Bee isn’t really surprised, nor is he surprised that Jazz is the one to go after him. He is, however, surprised at his decision to follow them.

Jazz might kill him for eavesdropping, but well – Bee doesn’t like knowing he’s been an asshole. He needs to know how to fix this, and he knows Prowl will never just answer the question. He doesn’t seem the type to accept apologies, either. So maybe this way he’ll figure something out.

Prowl stands just outside the back of the base, hidden where no one else would think to look, staring up at the sky. Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ya said it wasn’t home fer long.”

The tactician shakes his head. “No. I was adopted from there. My creators abandoned me to the Praxian enforcers. I was raised in a youth center until Optimus took me in.”

Bee almost stalls out at that piece of knowledge. It explains a lot about Prowl’s drive. Jazz just nods. “But it was still home.”

“It was. Even if I was – well, no matter what, it was the first home I ever knew.”

Jazz casts Prowl a sharp look, but decides to drop that. “Mech,” he says gently, “it’s alrigh’ ta grieve.”

Prowl’s doorwings are so low they’re practically resting on his back, and his body trembles. “Stay with me?”

“O’ course.”

Bee turns his back, not wanting to watch. Eavesdropping is one thing, but this is private. He considers leaving – it doesn’t look like he’s going to get the answer he’s looking for right now – but as he takes a step away, Prowl speaks again.

“Thank you.”

“Fer what?”

“Actually trying to get to know me.”

Jazz chuckles. “Trust meh, Ah think Ah’m gettin’ more outta this than ya are.”

Bee’s optics widen, and a slow grin spreads across his face. With a whole new plan in mind, he walks away, confident in his leader’s ability to get their tactician through this.


	7. how crazy can ya be

Normally, Jazz does not worry about his mechs on the field. They can take care of themselves, and in any case, he has very little time for worry anyway. It’s Prowl’s job to worry, his job to follow Prowl’s plan and get them in and out alive. 

But this time Prowl is pinned down with them, snipers overhead and a minefield between them and safety, and all Jazz can think is how _Prowl shouldn’t be there_. Magnus and Gunner both said he shouldn’t, that he was needed in headquarters so he could plan. Prowl took one look at the mission and said he was going, and to hell with what they thought.

It’s his first time running an op as a participant, and Jazz has to admit, the mech is good. He knows his limits, knows when to listen and when to take charge, and he sticks close to the others and learns from them. If this had ended any other way, Jazz was considering giving the mech the training to be more of an asset on missions like this, especially if he was going to just ignore the fact that tac officers usually stayed in HQ. Take down tac, you take out a team.

Then Shockwave found them, and everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Bee is shaking. He hasn’t been on a mission that’s failed this spectacularly yet. Thankfully, he’s keeping silent and holding together, even if he does look on the verge of shutdown. Jazz glances at Prowl, watching the other mech as he stretches up just enough to get a lock on the snipers around them.

“There’s 15 of them that I can see.” he says quietly. “There has to be at least twice that, though.”

Mirage chuckles darkly. “30. Well, don’t we feel special.”

“Th’ _other_ downside ta bein’ too damned good.” It’s a poor excuse of a joke, but it makes Prowl smile nonetheless. Jazz takes a couple of shots just to keep everyone in the same position. “Got any miracle plans, Prowler?”

“That depends on how much you trust me.”

Now _that_ has Jazz’s attention. During all the ops they’ve run together, he has never heard Prowl say that. There’s really only one answer he can give.

“With mah spark.”

Prowl examines him a moment longer before nodding. He turns his focus back to the minefield. “The fastest route will be straight down the middle – we make the alley, we’re in the clear.”

Mirage recovers his voice first. “You want us to run through an active minefield with no cover.”

“I want you to _follow me_ through an active minefield with minimal cover.” Prowl retorts. “I will provide us with what I can.” He turns to Bee. “I want you to stick in between Jazz and Mirage. If anyone comes at us from the sides – shoot them.” Bee nods. To Mirage, he adds, “Take up the rear. You’ll need to provide cover fire in case it looks like they’ll get a clear shot.”

He glances at Jazz, but the visored mech just smiles. “Ah got yer back.” 

Prowl nods and pulls a second gun from his subspace. “On my mark.” he whispers. The others take up position, and Prowl takes aim. Not in front of them – but to the sides.

And suddenly Jazz understands.

“Run!”

They take off through the field, and Prowl opens fire on the mines to either side of them. His aim isn’t the best, and Jazz adds his own hail of bullets to the mix, detonating even more of the mines. Debris shoots into the air, masking their path. The Decepticons can’t get a clear shot on them, and when it seems like they might, Mirage lights up the mines behind them.

How they make it across the field without detonating themselves is nothing short of a miracle.

Adrenaline pumping, they keep running through the twisted alleys until they make it to safety.

/--------/

Prowl fully anticipates the brig time. Turns out, Jazz didn’t. He follows Prowl down to the brig after they’ve been checked over by medical. Prowl glances at him. “I earned this, you know.” he says quietly. “It’s not like they’re not being fair.”

“Ya saved our asses.” Jazz growls. “Agin. Piss-poor way ta repay ya, ain’ it?”

“Well, I did disobey a direct order.” He refuses to look at the Polyhexian. “Magnus and Gunner both ordered me to stay here.”

Jazz stops cold. “Ya lied ta me.”

Prowl flinches at that. He stops as well, but he refuses to look at Jazz. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“To keep you out of trouble.” Prowl’s doorwings hang low on his shoulders, absolutely motionless. “I could not let you go alone. I knew I had to be there, and I knew if I told you everything, you would let me come regardless. So I lied.”

Jazz can’t quite wrap his processor around that. “What was so important that ya had ta be there?”

“10%.”

“Huh?”

“That mission. The best I could do was 10%.” Prowl’s now looking at the ground, his doorwings trembling. “I told them it was suicide. Magnus insisted anyway. The opportunity was too good to pass up.” His fists clench. “Even adding my own skills to the mix, our chances of success were only 12%.”

Jazz can’t breathe. His visor is so pale it’s practically white. “So what, yer battle computer told ya the logical choice was ta kill yerself along with us?”

That actually earns him a small smile, but it fades quickly. “I don’t use my battle computer. It’s defective, so if it crashes, it’ll take me down with it.” Prowl shakes his helm. “Never liked the frelling thing anyway.” He glances over at Jazz. The Polyhexian just stands there, staring at him. Prowl looks away. “If you can’t trust me anymore, I’ll understand.”

“Can’t trust – “ Jazz’s voice chokes off, and he finally snaps out of his stupor. Instead of responding, he launches himself at Prowl, hugging the other mech tightly from behind, arms around his shoulders. Prowl makes a small sound of surprise, but his hands go up to hold Jazz’s wrists, keeping him in place. 

The smaller mech fits perfectly between his wings, and his warm body makes Prowl almost sag against him. Jazz merely tightens his grip. 

“Ya crazy fragger.” he murmurs. “Ah meant what Ah said. I trust ya wit mah spark, Prowler. That ya’d go agains’ _Magnus_ of all mechs doesn’ change that. If anythin’, it makes meh trust ya more.” For just a moment, Prowl thinks he feels lips on the back of his neck, a sort of thank-you – just a light pressure, and then it’s gone. Jazz releases him, and Prowl finally turns around and faces him.

“Jazz – “

“Yer lookin’ out fer us the best ya know how, even at the expense of yerself. There’s gonna be consequences fer this. They’ll try ta take ya away from th’ team.”

Slowly, Prowl nods. “I know. They will say I’ve been compromised.”

“Ah won’ let ‘em. Ya know that, right?”

Prowl smiles then, an honest smile, and it lightens Jazz’s spark. “I know that, Jazzy.”

_Jazzy._ Jazz can’t help but grin at that. “Good. Now go sit in time out so we c’n git this done an’ over with.” He makes a show of shooing Prowl away, and the Praxian goes with a laugh, but as soon as he’s out of sight, Jazz’s smile drops away. His hands shake as he rubs them over his faceplates.

“Yer a crazy fragger, Prowl.” he whispers. “But Ah think – Ah think Ah’m just as compromised as ya are.”


	8. conversations with dad

Prowl once again finds himself in front of Optimus Prime, but this time Optimus has come down personally to speak with him. It would make him laugh, if he wasn’t clearly aware that his two months are almost up.

Optimus leans back in his chair, watching the two mechs on the far side of the conference room. Originally, he wanted to talk to Prowl alone, but Jazz insisted on being allowed to join the conversation. Prowl had merely shrugged and allowed him. So Prowl stands calmly in the middle of the room, looking at a point somewhere over Prime’s head, and Jazz leans against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest. Optimus makes it a point to ignore him to the best of his abilities and keeps his focus on Prowl.

“What were you thinking?”

Prowl doesn’t even flinch. “About what?”

“You walked through an active minefield, after completely disregarding orders to stay out of the field.” 

Now that gets a reaction. Prowl blinks. “How do you even know about that?”

“I saw the footage.”

Prowl glances over at Jazz. “I was unaware we had kept that footage.” Jazz just shrugs with a small grin. Prowl flicks his doorwings in an amused gesture before returning his attention to Optimus. “Regardless, the mission was a success. We got the intel required of us, and we made it out alive.”

“Always a plus in mah book.” Jazz murmurs. That earns him another amused flick. Optimus pinches his noseplates.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why did you disobey a direct order and go out into the field?”

Prowl’s optics darken. “Because it was a suicide mission, and our chances of success increased with me on the ground with them.”

“Then you should have taken your concerns to Magnus, or Gunner. Not taken things into your own hands. You ignored the chain of command.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice calm when he really wants to shake Prowl right now.

To his surprise, Jazz speaks up. “He did. Prowl took his concerns ta Gunner an’ ta Magnus, an’ they sent us out anyway. Th’ mission was ‘too important’. So Prowl decided ta go with us.” His voice is calm and collected, but his fists are clenched and tension is etched into every line of his body. 

Jazz knows what’s coming. Prowl does too. And Optimus knows, watching the two of them stand there, that they will fight his decision until the end.

He sighs. “Nevertheless, not only did Prowl disobey orders, he put himself and the team in severe danger by choosing that route. His two months are up. Therefore, I am changing his orders. He’s to come back to Iacon with me and resume his intended role.”

“No, he ain’t.” Jazz takes a step forward, taking up position by Prowl’s side. “Ah’ll tell ya what Ah told ya th’ first time. Ya want mah team runnin’ ops? Ya give us Prowl. Ah ain’ doin’ this without him. He’s kept us alive.” 

“That’s not your call to make.” Optimus says quietly. His gaze flickers over to Prowl. “I’m going to discuss things with Magnus and Gunner, but if Magnus agrees with me, we’re going to reassign you. Am I clear?”

Prowl’s doorwings twitch again, but this time Optimus can read the anger and denial in his actions. For a moment, Optimus thinks that he’s going to refuse. Instead, Prowl merely dips his helm.

“Crystal.”

/---------/

In all honesty, Optimus fully expects Magnus and Gunner to agree with him. After all, Prowl’s actions put the entire team at risk, not just himself. Optimus knows just how good Jazz’s team is. In fact, there are rumors about the team that circulate through the Decepticon ranks. Intel usually gets a kick out of gathering those rumors. The Autobot cause cannot afford to lose them, no matter how much Optimus despises using them.

To his shock, Magnus agrees with him, but Gunner remains silent throughout the entire exchange.

When Magnus leaves to break the news to Jazz’s team, Gunner catches Optimus before he can follow. “Might I have a word, Prime?”

“Of course.” Optimus closes the door. “What can I do for you, Gunner?”

“You can take Jazz’s team.”

That – that is really not what Optimus was expecting. “You know how I feel about special ops.” he says quietly. “That would not be for the best.”

Gunner shakes his head. “It is what’s for the best.” he insists. “I told Magnus before Prowl was ever given the mission that this was suicide. I told him Prowl would back me up on that. 10% - that’s what they went out there with. Magnus _knew that_.”

Optimus hesitates. He would never start a mission with such poor odds. “So why would he send his best team on a suicide run?”

“Because he’s gotten used to the fact that Prowl can pull miracles out of his ass, and Jazz can execute them.” Gunner growls. “He gets that team out of situations that really should kill them – he’s been doing it from day one. Hell, that’s why I pushed to get Prowl put on this team. But Magnus exploits that accordingly. Prowl doesn’t like it, neither does Jazz, but we can’t say anything about it. This is Ultra Magnus we’re talking about.”

“I cannot interfere with the way he runs his team.” 

“Even if it’s going to kill your son? Or his?”

That startles Optimus. “How do you know – Magnus has a son?”

“Of course I know about Prowl – so does Jazz and I suspect the rest of the team as well.” Gunner cuts him off. “And Jazz is Magnus’ kid. Not that you can tell, with the way he treats him.”

It takes Optimus a moment to digest that. Gunner pushes the point. “Tell me, would you force a team to go out on a mission that only had a 10% chance of success? Or would you listen to their tac officer and hold out for better circumstances?”

That earns Gunner a glare. “You know damn good and well what I would do.” he grouses. “I can’t just walk in and take the team away. This is a process.”

“Then leave Prowl with us until you do.” Gunner says. “Jazz isn’t going to let him go. _I_ don’t want to let him go, and Prowl doesn’t want to leave. So just leave him here for a while, think about it, and when you come back for Prowl – make sure you take the others with you.”

“I imagine I’ll be taking them with me regardless.” Optimus says dryly.

“You’d be correct.” Gunner walks past him and out the door. “I’ll send you the footage of Magnus trying to get Prowl to leave. That ought to be worth a laugh.”

He leaves Optimus standing in the meeting room, wondering just what on Cybertron he’s gotten himself into _this time._


	9. conversations with dad, pt 2

Prowl sits on his berth, watching with vast amounts of completely unconcealed amusement as Ultra Magnus tries to get Jazz to open the door to spec ops quarters. Bee sits next to him, grinning ear to ear while Jazz and Mirage flank the door. Jazz has a small smirk on his face; Mirage is struggling not to double over laughing. 

There’s actually another team in the quarters as well, the only one that Jazz’s team works with on the occasional mission, watching the show and being of absolute no help to Magnus at all. The team leader, an Iacon femme called Sunbright, sits on Prowl’s other side, leaning back on her hands and smiling at the entire scene.

“Jazz. Open the door, Jazz.” Magnus sounds beyond exasperated, and Prowl is suddenly reminded of the tone Optimus would take with him when he was being exceptionally stubborn.

Jazz’s smirk just gets wider. “Go away.”

“Come on, we don’t have time for this!”

Mirage snorts. Jazz just casts him a look. “Leave meh alone ta die.” 

“THIS STOPPED BEING FUNNY AT THE ACADEMY!”

Bee has lost the fight with laughter now. He’s actually leaning on Prowl for support. “I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to hack the lock yet.” he chuckles. Prowl just smiles.

“That would be a very bad idea.” he says. “I’ve seen some of the security Jazz added to that lock. No doubt Magnus knows that anyone that tries to hack the lock to this place is 90% certain to wind up with processor damage.”

Bee winces. “Ouch. Jazz is mean.”

“Jazz is ops.” Prowl replies, and Bee has to nod in response to that. Being mean is part of being ops.

Jazz is still standing by the door, watching the exchange even as he addresses Magnus. “Ah told Prime, and Ah’ll tell ya – Ah ain’ goin’ out without Prowl. So either we keep ‘im, or yer down an ops team.”

“That’s not your call to make!” Magnus protests. “Prowl has his orders – “

“We gave at th’ office.” Jazz says flippantly.

“JAZZ!”

“Magnus.” Gunner’s quiet voice interrupts the tirade. If he listens carefully, Prowl can hear the sounds of Prime’s footsteps following Gunner down the hall. He stiffens.

A glance at Mirage, and Jazz abandons his post at the door to sit on the other side of Prowl, nudging Sunbright out of the way. He reaches out and grabs the other’s hand, and Prowl holds on tightly, the only sign of his nervousness. Jazz leans in against him. “They ain’ takin’ ya.” he whispers. Prowl just nods.

“Are you _kidding me_?!” Magnus’s shout echoes through the hall. “Prime, you can’t be serious!”

“Very much so. Come, let’s discuss this somewhere more private.”

The two bigger mechs walk away. Gunner waits until they’re well and truly gone before speaking to his rather shaken ops team. “You don’t have to worry about Prowl going anywhere.” he says. “I had words with Prime, and he saw the wisdom of keeping you guys together. You’ll probably be under more scrutiny, but that’s a small price to pay.”

“Not th’ first time, either.” Jazz replies. “Thanks, Gunner.”

“We owe you one.” Mirage adds, still standing by the door.

Gunner snorts. “Owe me one by keeping outta trouble for a while. Primus above.” His voice drifts away, still muttering good-naturedly about troublesome spec ops teams. Sunbright laughs at that.

“He’s always so full of hot air.” she says. “You guys are his favorite team.”

“We’re his best team.” Bee points out with a grin. “And it’s all because of Prowl.”

“Hey!” Jazz mock-protests. “Ah like ta think we were good fore he came in!” Sunbright laughs, and a few of the others start calling out good-natured insults. Jazz throws them right back, laughing the entire time.

Mirage watches the tense look on Prowl’s face, and the way Jazz still hasn’t let go of his hand, and a small smile crosses his face.

/----------/

To say Magnus is not pleased with Jazz would be an understatement. Jazz is just glad the other team is keeping Prowl busy right now. He doesn’t need to see how nasty this is going to get.

“How did you manage to convince Optimus Prime to let us keep his tactician?” Magnus demands. He’s not even bothering sitting down – instead, he paces across the room in front of his desk. Jazz just shrugs and leans against the wall.

“Mah awesome charm?”

“This is _serious_ , Jazz! You know you’re only allowed to serve under me if your team performs within certain standards!”

“An’ what if Ah think that servin’ under ya ain’ in mah team’s best interest anymore?”

That stops Magnus’s rant rather effectively, as well as his pacing. “What are you talking about?”

“Ya use us, Magnus. Ya sent us out there ta die.”

He snorts. “Clearly, that’s not true. You completed your mission successfully. And this is hardly the first time I’ve sent you on a mission that’s gone badly.”

“Yeah, but th’ other times Ah was startin’ out with more than 10%.”

Magnus stiffens. “Prowl told you. Damn it all.”

“In his defense, Ah was rather pissed at him fer lyin’ ta me about his orders.”

Magnus shakes his helm. “Jazz. This isn’t good, you know that, right? Prowl put your team in jeopardy. He disobeyed his orders and went against every ops protocol there is.” He sighs and leans against his desk, arms crossed over his chassis. “He’s compromised.”

“If this is what he does compromised, Ah say let ‘im be.” Jazz replies flatly. “Ah like havin’ th’ best on mah team. Prowl is th’ best. He’s better than Firestar, better than anyone else ya could find. An’ he actually likes ops. Most of the good ones don’ like ops.”

“He also walks in here thinking he can change everything.”

“Maybe some things need ta be changed.” Jazz fixes him with a hard stare. “What is this about, really? Ya never act like this.” Magnus doesn’t respond. Jazz grins. “What? Ya used ta havin’ free reign with ops, and now ya might have Prime breathin’ down yer neck. How long before he takes issue with the way ya run things?”

“I run things fine.”

“Yer ruthless, an’ that’s fine. Ya need ta be. But will Prime see it that way? More importantly – are ya bein’ _too ruthless_?”

“I’m as ruthless as I need to be, Jazz. I do what it takes to get the job done.”

“Apparently not, if Prowl and I c’n git jobs done without unnecessary risk.” Jazz pushes off of the wall and stalks over to the door. “Ah ain’ sayin’ nothin’ bad bout ya, Magnus. Ya got yer style, an’ it works fer ya. Just maybe it don’ work for us anymore.”

“And what – you think Optimus will have a better style? He can’t stand ops.”

Jazz hesitates. He knows Prime’s opinion on ops – honestly, it’s almost insulting, comparing his team to the Decepticons like that – and he knows Prime’s rocky relationship with Prowl. Still.

“It don’ matter. All Ah know is Prime will _listen_ ta his mechs when they tell him it’s suicide ta go.”

With that, he walks out the door.


	10. don't threaten me with a good time

It’s not often the ops teams make it out into the city. When it's Jazz's turn, he takes the entire team, and they head out to their favorite club. This particular club is frequented often by ops mechs, not that you can tell them from the regular civilians that come through the place. It’s safe enough, considering the femme that owns the club used to be ops herself, and she can smell a spy a kilometer away. She makes sure everyone that comes through can cut loose and enjoy themselves without worrying about someone trying to kill them or get information. 

Well, the occasional fights do happen, but they're ops. It's part of the fun.

Prowl can honestly say he’s never been to a club. It’s nothing against clubs, he’s just never had the opportunity – or been invited, for that matter. So this excursion will be his first experience.

He’s not sure what he’s looking forward to most – experiencing the club himself, or watching the rest of the team just kick back and finally relax.

They stand outside the building, watching mechs and femmes come and go for a few minutes. Mirage grins as Bee hops excitedly from one foot to the other. “Well, mechs – are we gonna just stand around staring, or are we gonna have a good time?” he asks cheekily.

Jazz laughs. “Go on, mechs. Prowler an’ Ah will be righ’ behind ya.” Bee practically squeals in excitement and takes off into the crowd, Mirage hot on his heels. Prowl smiles to himself as he watches them go. Jazz glances back at him. “Never been in a club before?”

“No. This will be a first.” Prowl muses. He looks over at Jazz and smiles. “Shall we?” 

Primus help him, but Jazz’s spark skips a little at that smile. He grins back. “O’ course! Let’s do this!” He links his arm through Prowl’s and guides him into the club.

It’s loud, dark, and Prowl immediately flinches at the sudden influx of input. He quickly tones down the data from his doorwings to something more tolerable. Jazz tightens his grip on his arm. “Ya alrigh’?”

“Yes. I just needed a moment to adjust.” Prowl flicks his doorwings in emphasis. "Too much input. It's good now."

“Good.” He flashes Prowl a wicked grin. “Come on, Prowler. Th’ fun is just beginnin’.” He guides Prowl through the crowd and to the bar. Mirage and Bee already have high-grade. Jazz orders them two more cubes and passes one to Prowl. For a while, the four of them just sit there, harassing each other and the bartender – a pretty femme who calls herself Glimmer – and drinking enough high-grade to rack up quite a bill. Prowl limits himself to three cubes, and he’s already approaching tipsy. The others have blown past tipsy but aren’t quite drunk yet. Just loose enough to have a good time.

Somehow Bee talks Glimmer into giving him a dance. While Mirage catcalls and generally does his best to embarrass the crap out of Bee, Jazz turns his attention to Prowl. His smile is in no way sober, and it makes Prowl smile in return. “Ah think Bee has the right idea.” 

"You know I can't dance." Prowl points out.

Jazz leans in until he's a breath away from Prowl. "That's th' fun of it. Ya let meh lead, an' Ah'll teach ya how." He grins. "C'mon, Prowler - ya know ya wanna."

Prowl smirks. "Maybe, maybe not. But I will, and you know it." Jazz laughs and leans back again, taking Prowl by the hand and leading him out onto the dance floor.

The dancing is rather terrible, but Prowl has to admit - it's fun. Jazz is too tipsy to be much of a lead, and Prowl is just drunk enough to not care. Mirage somehow manages to find a dance partner in this mess of bodies. Jazz calls him Hound, and Prowl gets the impression that Mirage is close to him. He would make a note to ask about it later, but he wouldn't remember it anyway. 

Prowl and Jazz take a break long before Bee and Mirage do. They find an out of the way table and take a seat, Prowl with his back to the wall and Jazz sitting to his left. Jazz watches as Prowl's doorwings lower just a hair. "All that input ain' good fer yer wings?" he asks.

"Oh, it's not that." Prowl assures him. "Too much input can cause pain, but this is bearable. It just takes a certain amount of concentration to keep the data input below normal."

"Oh." Jazz grins. "Too drunk to manage it?"

Prowl can't help but grin back. "Kind of."

Jazz snorts in laughter. Before he can make another retort, three mechs approach their table. One is Praxian, with the same build as Prowl but painted blue and green, and the other two are Iacon mechs, one predominantly grey, the other red. The Praxian sneers at Prowl. 

"Lookit who it is, mechs. If it ain’t the stick from the Academy.”

Jazz bristles, but Prowl merely inclines his helm. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t remember you.” he says politely. Jazz casts him a quick glance. There’s nothing in Prowl’s body language to suggest he’s intimidated or even worried by these jokers. “But I’m assuming we’ve met.”

“Had a few classes together. You were always breaking the grading curve, but you couldn’t interact with other mechs to save your life, could you? So, how the hell did an awkward _sparkling_ of a mech like you manage to wind up on Magnus’s team?” He raises his doorwings in what Jazz thinks is a threatening gesture. It’s hard to tell, because Prowl is clearly not feeling all that threatened.

“Why would you care how I got where I am?” 

The Praxian smirks. “Not willing to admit who you fragged? What’s the matter – weren’t good at it?”

Jazz stiffens again, but Prowl merely smirks. “Clearly better than you were, if I got on the team you wanted.”

Ah, now _that_ got their attention. The Praxian takes a step forward, fists clenching. “I’ll make you regret that.” he hisses.

Prowl leans back in his seat and smiles up at them. "You want to fight me?"

"Now he gets it!" the red one crows. "He may be sparkless, but at least he's kinda quick on the uptake!"

Prowl just continues to smile at them. There's nothing kind about his smile, but the other mechs don't seem to notice. "Three on one odds hardly seem fair, don't you agree?"

That's when two other mechs appear out of the crowd. Jazz tenses, but Prowl just smirks. "Oh, mech," he practically purrs, "don't threaten me with a good time."

The Praxian growls. "Get up!"

Prowl does, slowly stretching as he rises. Jazz stands as well, taking a step forward, but Prowl stops him with a raised hand. "I can handle this."

"Ya sure? Ah ain' above bustin' a few heads."

"I'm sure." Prowl flashes him a smile. Jazz just grins and takes a step back. By this time Mirage and Bee have made it over to the group. They circle around to stand on either side of Jazz. 

"Boss?" Be murmurs.

"Not yet." Jazz replies.

The other Praxian gets tired of waiting. He charges Prowl with a hoarse battle cry. 

In a move like lightning, Prowl grabs him by the throat and flips him over his shoulder, slamming the Praxian into the ground. The other mechs suddenly seem a lot less confident in themselves. Jazz laughs. "Impressive."

"Thank you."

The red mech takes a step forward. "You're not good enough to get all of us!"

Jazz steps forward, arms crossed over his chassis. "Ah wouldn'. Ya think Prowler's scary, trust meh - Ah'm worse."

"Oh, come on, Jazz." Mirage teases, never leaving his post. "We've been spoiling for a good fight. The Decepticons just don't provide enough of a challenge anymore."

That's enough to scare the other mech's. Red's optics pale in terror. Prowl smiles. "I would advise leaving now, before my team decides to work out their extra energy on you."

They leave. Wisely, Jazz thinks. Bee waits until they're gone, the unconscious Praxian supported between two of them, then busts out laughing. "Damn, Prowl, remind me to get lessons from you. I thought I was impressive!"

Prowl just laughs. Jazz wraps his arms around his shoulders, leaning against his back, and whispers in his audio. His voice is pitched low, deliberately seductive. "Ah'm just glad yer on mah side."

"As long as you can keep me." Prowl teases. His voice is even, but he can't stop the shiver that tone sends down his spine. Jazz grins, his lips trailing lightly across the back of Prowl's neck before he lets go. 

"Oh, Ah'll have ya for a _long_ time." he murmurs. 

Prowl just smiles to himself. "No argument there." he murmurs back. Louder, he adds, "Come on. We should probably find somewhere else to continue the night."

He can still feel the heat of Jazz’s body against his back.


	11. face everything and rise

When Tyger Pax is attacked, Prowl honestly can’t say he’s surprised. After all, it’s not as well defended as Iacon, and Ultra Magnus causes all sorts of problems for Megatron. In hindsight, Prowl can say they should have expected this. Of course, hindsight only gets you so far.

He’s not with the rest of his team when the first of the bombs fall. Jazz is on patrol, Mirage is on vacation in Syph with Hound, and Bee is in the rec room playing a game with a handful of others. Prowl is in the training room. In fact, he’s in the process of stepping out of the door when the entire room explodes behind him. 

The first thing he becomes aware of is the screaming pain in his doorwings, and he can’t shut off the sensors. Hissing in pain, he forces himself to his feet. He can hear other explosions as more bombs fall. Struggling to think through the pain, he attempts to make contact with his team. Nothing but static fills his audios. His comms are fried, and now he has no way of knowing what’s going on in the base. He can’t check in with his team, and that’s the only thought he can hold in his mind past the pain.

Another explosion nearby convinces him to start moving. The hallway is getting hotter. He doesn’t need to worry about Jazz or Mirage, with both of them being off-base. Bee has the focus of his thoughts. The last he checked, Bee was in the rec room, and the rec room is on the opposite side of the base.

Prowl makes his way there with a single-minded determination.

Chromia is organizing evacuation efforts. Prowl catches her attention easily enough. “What happened?”

“Far as we can tell, it’s the Seekers.” she says. They have to shout to hear each other over the roaring flames. “They’re dropping bombs, but no one has come down to finish the job.”

That’s probably a small miracle. Prowl nods. “Have you seen Bumblebee?”

She shakes her helm. “No, but Prowl – the rec room is gone. It was the first area hit. If he was there, he’s dead.”

Prowl barely acknowledges that. He’s aware of the odds. His team destroys those odds on a regular basis. He simply nods to her and takes off down the hall, getting ever-closer to the rec room. 

He shoves open the rec room door and finds himself in an inferno. Chromia was right – the rec room is simply gone, engulfed in flames, and for a moment Prowl can’t breathe through the smoke and the scent of burning metal and energon. Still, he forces himself to call out.

“Bee!”

“Prowl!”

He’s there, on the other side of the rec room, pinned beneath a crumbled table, somehow still alive. Not for long, though, if Prowl can’t find a way to get to him. Parts of the ceiling are starting to fall. An attempt at rescue might mean suicide. Prowl can see Bee come to that same conclusion. From his position hiding by the tables, he waves at Prowl.

“Go! Get out of here!”

But Prowl sees it. A path, with almost 13% success at getting there. There’s only a 10% chance of getting back out, less if the ceiling continues to fall. 

They’re ops. They beat worse odds than that on a regular basis. 

Prowl takes off running, just as the ceiling begins to fall behind him.

/---------/

Jazz doesn’t need the frantic comms of his base to tell him something has happened. He can see the flames and hear the explosions from six blocks away. He’s already speeding back to base by the time Magnus recalls everyone. 

Bee’s comm is dead. So is Prowl’s. Frantic, he pings Mirage.

::Ya heard from Bee or Prowl?::

::No. What’s going on?::

::Th’ base is under attack. Ah can’t reach them.::

There’s a brief pause. ::Hound and I are on the way.::

Jazz sends back acknowledgement. By the time Hound and Mirage make it back to Tyger Pax from Syph, the fires will be out. 

He skids to a halt in front of the base and transforms, visor flickering in shock. The base is almost gone, the entirety of it burning. Jazz just stands there, staring, and for a blessed moment he doesn’t feel anything. Everything has gone numb.

There’s no way they survived, if they’re still in there.

“Jazz!” Gunner materializes behind him, placing hand on his shoulder to keep him stable. “I’m sorry, Jazz. Looks like Bee got caught in the rec room when the first of the bombs fell. Prowl went in there after him. The ceiling collapsed about 20 minutes ago. We haven’t seen them since.”

Jazz’s knees buckle. Gunner catches him before he can fall on his ass. 

“No.” He finds his balance again, staring intently at the burning complex. “They’re alive. They ain’ gonna get taken down by some little pissant Seekers.”

Gunner sighs, but he doesn’t say anything in response to that. Jazz is grateful. He doesn’t need to hear the odds. Prowl can give them to him down to the twelfth decimal place when Jazz finds him. But they _did survive_ , because they’re ops, and something like this isn’t going to kill them.

So Jazz starts walking, searching the crowd of evacuated mechs and asking around. Surely someone has seen them. Surely someone knows where they are.

Gunner stays behind him and to his left, just inside Jazz’s periphery, a small frown on his face as every inquiry is met with a negative answer.

Finally, they find a medic Jazz isn’t familiar with in the last triage tent. They stop short. “Who’re ya?”

“Ratchet, combat medic for Prime.” The medic doesn’t even bother to look at them, although the mechs around him are getting twitchy. No one wants to be around an ops mech when they snap, and only Gunner’s presence is keeping some of the injured in the triage tent from completely flipping out. “Are you dying or in danger of dying?”

Jazz’s visor flickers. “No.”

“Then why are you bothering me? I have patients.”

“m lookin’ fer someone. Praxian called Prowl an’ a mini named Bee. Ya got ‘em here?”

Ratchet finally looks up from his patient to Jazz and Gunner. Suddenly, he groans. “You’re ops. Slag it all, why didn’t you say so from the beginning? Got a Praxian and a mini in the back, behind that sheet. Don’t know if it’s your mechs – never got designations.”

Jazz thinks his intakes might stop working. “Condition?”

“Bad enough, but they’re stabilized for now. Go check. Don’t disturb them.”

Jazz nods. “Thanks, Ratch.” He ignores the mech’s half-hearted protest about the nickname and heads into the back. Gunner follows him. Jazz barely acknowledges him. He simply walks to the back and shoves the sheet aside.

There are two berths set up. Bee lies on one, completely out, hooked up to an intake cleaner. Prowl is on the other, lying face-down, but he’s definitely awake. He’s watching the door with half-powered optics. Jazz immediately notices the doorwings, burned to slag and still red-hot in places, and he winces. “Slag, Prowler. Whaddya do?”

“I ran into an inferno.” Prowl murmurs. He offers Jazz a small smile. “I was hoping you would find us. Comms are down.”

“Ah know.” Jazz takes a seat next to him, completely disregarding Gunner for the moment. He’s barely aware of it when the mech leaves, confident now that the ops agent isn’t going to go postal at the loss of half his team. “Why ain’ ya rechargin’? Ah know ya in pain.”

Prowl shakes his head slightly. “Not really. Ratchet has me pretty drugged. Not feeling much of anything right now.”

“So recharge.”

“Can’t. Bee was put under for the intake cleaning.”

Jazz has to smile at that. “Taught ya well, didn’ Ah?” Prowl flashes him a smirk. Jazz nods. “All right, then. Ya rest now. Ah’ll watch out fer a while.”

“Okay.” Prowl’s optics offline, and for a moment Jazz thinks he’s already gone. Then he speaks again. “He’s gonna fix my doorwings tomorrow. Make sure he doesn’t frag them up.”

Ops mechs are good at hearing what isn’t said, and Jazz can hear everything in those two sentences that Prowl isn’t coherent enough to say. He nods. “Ya got it, Prowler. Now rest.”

It doesn’t take long. Prowl’s too badly damaged to fight recharge forever. Jazz is shocked that he managed it this long. He falls so still that he looks dead, and Jazz reaches out instinctively and trails his fingers down Prowl’s face, seeking his warmth. 

::Jazz ta Mirage.::

::Here.::

::Ah found ‘em. They’re alive.::

A brief pause. ::Thank Primus. We’ll be there as soon as we can.::

Bee’s out, Prowl is out, and Gunner is gone. Jazz is alone, and now he allows himself to shake. His optics burn with tears, but he doesn’t let them fall just yet. When Mirage takes over watch, Jazz will find a quiet place, and he’ll cry for the lives he almost lost.

For now, he stands vigil and watches over them.


	12. this i promise you

Optimus watches Prowl and Bumblebee in the recovery room. After the Tyger Pax base was destroyed, all the injured mechs were moved to Iacon. Most of Magnus’s normal team stayed in Tyger Pax to help rebuild and recover the dead.

Jazz came with his team. 

Prowl is awake and getting used to his new doorwings. Bee leans against him, taking care not to touch the sensitive panels. Mirage and Hound, a tracker that gets loaned out more often than not, sit on an empty berth on the other side of the recovery room. Jazz has taken position beside Prowl, arms crossed over his chassis and an easy smile on his face.

Optimus is not fooled. He can see the tension lining that frame, the way Jazz’s attention never seems to stay on anything for too long. Jazz is in combat mode, in unfamiliar territory with injured teammates, and he’s probably even more dangerous because of it. 

“So that’s Jazz’s team.”

Optimus glances at Ratchet as the medic comes to stand beside him. He nods and returns his attention to the recovery room. Ratchet continues. “I’ve heard stories about them. Pretty sure they’re the boogeymen of the Autobot army.”

That earns him a sigh. “So they say.”

“Yeah, whatever. You don’t like special ops, we all know. Get over yourself.”

And this is the reason Optimus keeps the cranky medic around. Not only is he phenomenal at his job, but he takes slag from no one, including Prime. It’s nice to have someone who will tell him like it is. “Get over myself?” he asks mildly.

“Yeah. Get over yourself. Ops mechs aren’t ‘Cons in disguise, no matter what you might think. Scary bastards, but not ‘Cons.” Ratchet crosses his arms and turns his attention to the mechs, even as he continues to address Prime. “Your willful ignorance in this case is hurting that team.”

“How so?”

“Gunner told me some of what Magnus is putting them through. Did you know Jazz has orders to return to Tyger Pax? There are ops to be run.”

Optimus stops cold. “He can’t. Half his team – his tac officer – is in that room. Everyone knows Jazz won’t work with another tac officer.”

Ratchet shrugs. “Hence why he’s here and not there. But that doesn’t change the fact that Magnus made the call.”

“And you think I would have done differently?”

“Your reaction tells me you would have. I know Gunner’s already raised the issue with you. When a spec ops leader asks you to take his best team off his hands, there’s a problem.” Ratchet shakes his helm. “His team is doing fine, medically speaking. Bee is recovered completely, and Prowl is right behind him.”

“They won’t leave an injured teammate unprotected.” Optimus murmurs.

“Pretty much.” Ratchet glances at Optimus. “You know how Prowl got that badly hurt?”

“I assumed it was the explosions.”

“That was part of it. The rest was having the rec room ceiling collapse on top of him when he went to pull Bee out. I got the story from him after I repaired his wings.” Ratchet flashes Prime a grin. “He also asked if I would consider being an ops medic. Something about only wanting the best on his team.”

Optimus can’t help it. He laughs. “Prowl has you pegged.”

Ratchet snickers. “I told him I would think about it. It’s flattering, though.”

“Nice to be so highly regarded.” Prime agrees. He studies the team for a moment before turning away. “I need a word with Magnus.”

“Finally getting your head out of your – “

“Don’t say it.” Optimus warns, but he’s laughing anyway. “I think I have the perfect reason now.” With that he walks off, finally ready to confront Magnus on this issue.

Ratchet waits until he’s gone before leaving the area himself. He has other patients to see to, after all.

/---------/

The others fall into recharge long before Jazz and Prowl do. Prowl can’t help but smile at the pile of limbs the other three mechs have made of themselves. Jazz nods towards Hound. “Ah’m glad he was able ta stay. We don’ get ta keep him very often.”

“Is he bonded to Mirage?”

“Ah think so. Hard ta tell. Ops don’ exactly advertise, ya know?” Prowl nods, and Jazz continues. “But Ah know they love each other. This team is probably th’ only ones that know.”

“He’s another one that’s too good at what he does.” Prowl observes. “That’s why he doesn’t get to stay with Mirage.”

Jazz nods. “Best damn tracker Ah’ve ever seen.”

They fall silent for a few minutes. Jazz can practically hear the wheels turning in Prowl’s helm as he plots ways to keep Hound with the team. He hopes the Praxian succeeds. It would be nice to have the original team back together – the last three that are still alive, at any rate.

“You can recharge, you know.” Prowl says abruptly, cutting off his darker thoughts. “I’m sure we’re safe here.”

Jazz scowls at that. “Yeah, that’s what they told us about Tyger Pax.”

He’s fully expecting Prowl to argue the point, explain to him all the ways Iacon is safer. He’s waiting to hear the odds of a Decepticon attack on the capitol city. Instead, Prowl surprises him yet again.

“At the very least, make Mirage or Hound take a shift.”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Ah’ll do that, Prowler.”

Silence falls between them. Prowl is leaning against Jazz’s side; Jazz has his arm around Prowl’s waist, bracing him. For a moment, he thinks the Praxian has fallen into recharge. 

Tears threaten to fall again, but he holds them back. 

“You can let go.” Prowl whispers. “I was scared, too.”

It’s all the permission Jazz needs. He turns to hide his face in the crook of Prowl’s neck, unwilling to expose his tears, but they fall on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl makes no move to comfort him, instead simply allowing him to cling and cry silent tears. A few tears escape from Prowl as well, and he does nothing to hide them. They’re both safe with each other. Their fear will not be used against them.

The tears finally dry up, but Jazz doesn’t move. He simply sits there, face still hidden, visor shut off, still allowing Prowl to brace his weight against him. He feels Prowl shift enough to wipe his own face before the Praxian speaks.

“I don’t think Primus would let us in if we died like that.”

It’s just a dumb enough statement to make Jazz snort. Prowl chuckles at the sound, and that’s enough to set Jazz off. Soon both of them are cackling, quietly enough not to wake the others, but laughing still.

It feels _good_ to laugh like this again. Jazz can’t remember the last time. 

He leans back and grins at Prowl. “Yeah, bein’ killed by air raid is a piss-poor way ta go.” he teases.

“I don’t know – the burning ceiling did make it oddly reminiscent of certain minefields.” Prowl shoots back with a grin. Jazz shoves him good-naturedly. 

“Shaddup.” He abruptly turns serious. “Ah promise ya, Prowler – Ah’m gonna protect ya. Ya protect mah team, so Ah’m gonna protect ya. Ah swear.” 

Prowl just nods. “I know, Jazzy.”


	13. times always change

“I’m surprised you’ve come to collect your team personally.” Optimus muses, walking alongside Ultra Magnus as they make their way to the recovery ward. Gunner trails behind them, listening in on the conversation with ill-disguised interest. Magnus nods curtly.

“I have to deal with Jazz.” Magnus practically growls. “He disobeyed his orders to return immediately. Looks like Prowl is rubbing off on him. He was never so insubordinate before. I was hoping Prowl was more by-the-book than he is.”

“I thought insubordination was the mark of a good ops mech.” comes the mild response. Magnus snarls something under his breath, but Optimus ignores that. It doesn’t sound complimentary, anyway. “Actually, this works out quite well. There is an issue with Jazz’s team that I wish to discuss with you.”

“Primus.” Magnus mutters. “What have they done now?”

“Nothing they have done.” Optimus replies. “Rather, what I wish to do.”

“Take Prowl off my hands?”

“I’ll take them all off your hands.”

Magnus stops dead in his tracks. They’re standing just outside the recovery room now, and Optimus suspects that Jazz and Prowl are listening in. Gunner is now not even attempting to hide his interest. A small smile is starting to form on his old faceplates. Optimus merely inclines his helm to the old soldier.

“You hate ops.”

“I have been informed by quite a few mechs that my dislike of ops is unfounded and rather damaging. I would like to use Jazz’s team to learn more about them and the uses they serve.”

Magnus snorts. “Don’t bother trying to pretty it up. You want them because you know Prowl won’t stay otherwise.”

Optimus shrugs. “I’ll admit to a certain amount of personal gain. The rest of it involves the team itself. I don’t like the way you use them and disregard them.”

“You’ve never even ran an op before. Trust me, there’s a slight difference between what actually goes on and the reports you receive. Besides, they’re ops, Prime. They sign up to be _used and disregarded_.” Magnus retorts. “You know the average lifespan of an ops mech? It doesn’t pay to get attached.”

Those words hit Optimus like a punch to the gut. He just stares at Magnus for a moment before he can find his voice. “Even if one of those mechs is your son?” he asks quietly.

Magnus shutters his optics and tilts his helm back. “Some mechs need to learn to keep their damn mouths _shut_.” he growls.

Gunner snorts. “Have you forgotten that I’m not just head of ops? Prime likes that I don’t keep him in the dark. Kinda like this, actually – hey, Prime. If you’re gonna take the team, you need to take all the team. It includes Hound.”

Optimus blinks. “I’ve never seen mission reports involving Hound.”

“That’s because Magnus here doesn’t believe in keeping bonded mechs together. Something about becoming a liability to each other, although I fail to see how Hound is a liability to Mirage. Kinda like why every request Chromia has put in to join your team has never made it past him.”

There’s a long pause while Optimus considers that. Magnus looks like he’s ready to up and murder Gunner, but the old ops mech completely disregards him as a threat. Instead of saying anything that Optimus could have, he simply turns his full attention to Gunner.

“Please inform Chromia and Ironhide that her transfer has been accepted.” he says quietly. 

“You don’t need another communications officer.” Magnus snaps.

Gunner snorts. “Please. Her talents are being wasted on comms. Just because she’s decent at it doesn’t mean that’s where she needs to be. Her talent lies with close combat.”

“And Jazz hasn’t attempted to recruit her?” Optimus asks with no small amount of amusement.

Gunner grins. “He has. She has all the subtlety of a thrown brick. Prowl’s started using her for the shock-and-awe factor alone.”

“Well, that’s what I use Ironhide for.”

That earns Prime a laugh. “I’ll go let her know. She’ll be happy to be staying here.” With that he turns and leaves. Magnus turns the full force of his irritation on Optimus.

“Prime – “

“No. They’re staying here. You can either walk in with me and tell them the news yourself, or you can leave right now. But you’re not taking them back with you to Tyger Pax.” Optimus goes to open the door, then stops. “You should know that it was Gunner who originally approached me about taking the team. To quote Ratchet – when the head of ops is asking you to take his best team, that should tell you something about the way it’s being run. For now, I’m unwilling to look too hard into it – I’ve always given you your freedom and you give me the results the army needs. Don’t push your luck on that.”

Magnus glares at him, but after a moment he decides against whatever was going through his processor. He turns on his heel and stalks away instead. 

Prime decides not to worry too much about him. If he decides to try anything, Gunner will alert him to the danger.

He slides the door open to the recovery room. Turns out only Jazz is awake. Surprisingly enough, Prowl is recharging with his helm in Jazz’s lap, his doorwings fluttering occasionally. Bumblebee, Mirage, and Hound are curled up in a mech pile on the other berth. Jazz levels him with an even gaze.

“So, yer gonna take us on.”

His quiet tone doesn’t seem to wake the others, and Optimus modulates his own tone accordingly. “I am. Hound, too.”

Jazz almost scowls at that. “They never wanted anyone ta know.”

Prime can read between the lines. “Then as far as they base is concerned, they are simply teammates. What I have learned will not leave me.” He considers for a moment, then adds, “Well, Ratchet as well. He needs to know for medical reasons. Bonded mechs react differently.”

“True that.” Jazz glances down at Prowl, one hand resting on his shoulder. For a brief moment, Optimus wonders if Mirage and Hound are the only bonded mechs in this team. “And Prowl? If we’re all on yer team, what does that mean fer him?”

“He stays with you.” Jazz’s helm snaps up, visor meeting Prime’s gaze, and Prime shrugs. “You won’t accept another tac officer. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Similarly, Prowl will not accept another team. He stays with you.”

Tension Prime hadn’t noticed drains from Jazz’s frame. “Thanks, Prime.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not the only one on this team with a dislike of ops. You’ll have to prove yourselves a lot to the mechs here.”

Jazz just smiles, a faint quirk of his lips. “We ain’ worried ‘bout fittin’ in. Didn’ on Tyger Pax, and we won’ here. As long as we got each other, we cool.”

Optimus nods. “Tomorrow I’ll get Ironhide to show you around. For tonight, no one will brave Ratchet’s wrath just to see the new mechs. Get some rest. It’s safe here.”

It’s an unknowing echo of Prowl’s words, and Jazz almost breaks. He almost screams at Prime, shouts at him all the different ways a base can be attacked, infiltrated, even bombed out of existence. Prowl shifts in his lap, and that small movement is enough to distract him from his mounting frustration. Instead of snapping, he forces a small smile.

“Ah’ll try.”

“Good.” With a small nod, Prime leaves. Jazz glances down at Prowl, who is quiet once again, but no longer faking recharge. Dark blue optics lock with his. 

“Things will get better.” Prowl murmurs.

Jazz looks away. “At least wit Magnus Ah knew where we stood.” he replies. “Ah don’ anymore.”

Prowl offers a smile. “Lucky for you, I do.”

The Polyhex mech takes the gentle tease for what it is. He can’t stop a smile of his own as his hand comes up to trail down Prowl’s faceplates. “An’ where is that, anyway?”

“No more being loaned out. No more suicide missions just because we stand a better chance of not dying.” Prowl catches his hand before he can pull away. “No more threat of separation. Optimus will listen to us when we tell him something is too dangerous. Things will get better, Jazz. I promise you.”

Jazz sighs and squeezes the hand that holds his. “Ah hope yer right.”

Prowl squeezes back. “I know I am. Rest, Jazz. I’ll take watch.”

From outside, Prime listens in on the exchange with a bittersweet smile.

At least his son still has some faith in him.


	14. new neighbors

Ironhide watches as the new team makes themselves at home in Iacon.

For the life of him, he can’t figure it out. Optimus doesn’t like ops. That’s really not a secret. So, what’s so special about this team that he’s willing to go against what he believes and have them join the ranks? After all, it’s not like ops mechs can stop being ops.

It’s not that Ironhide doesn’t trust them. He doesn’t have quite the same hang-up his leader does, and besides, he’s heard enough about this team from Chromia to like them already. He can thank Gunner for Chromia’s transfer to Prime’s team. 

Still, he watches the group. Or rather, he watches the leaders of the group. They’re the ones he needs to watch out for. They’ll tell him how the rest will behave.

So he watches Jazz and Prowl.

From what he’s gathered, its Jazz’s team, technically. But the others listen just as much to Prowl as they do to Jazz, maybe a little more, since even Jazz tends to defer to Prowl during missions. Ironhide stands just outside of the office that the team inherited, watching as Jazz and Prowl investigate and find it severely lacking.

Jazz crosses his arms over his chassis and scowls. “Ah don’ like it. There’s only one way in. Anyone tries ta corner ya, this is th’ place ta do it.”

Prowl nods absently, his focus on something else entirely. He stares up at the ceiling and the vent right above the desk. Jazz follows his gaze. “Think ya c’n get in there?”

“Only one way to find out.” Prowl hoists himself up onto the desk and removes the grate covering the vent. Jazz stands just beside the desk, watching him intently. He has one hand up near Prowl’s shin, ready to brace him if it looks like he’s going to lose his balance. Prowl pushes himself up to peer into the vent, then shakes his helm. “I can get up, but that’s about it. The vent narrows in both directions. Bee couldn’t even get through there.”

Jazz frowns. “What about a cassette?”

“Maybe, if they’re determined. Make a hell of a lot of noise, though. Frenzy’s the only one small enough that I know of, and we all know he can’t keep his vocalizer shut.”

That makes the Polyhexian snort. “Ah’ll have Raj seal it shut.” Jazz backs up as Prowl jumps off the desk. Together, the two of them shove the desk to the far side of the room – away from the vent and anyone who might use it to spy, Ironhide realizes. Jazz leans against the relocated desk and look around. Prowl begins pacing the room, like he’s memorizing the number of steps to each wall, and it makes Jazz smile.

“Almost enough room ta dace in.” he teases.

Prowl flashes him a grin. “Is that a challenge or an offer?”

“An offer, if ya treat meh right.”

“I think I can manage that.” Prowl walks over and reaches out, taking Jazz’s hand. “Probably not today, though. I think we might break Ironhide if he saw the way we ‘dance’.” Jazz laughs, the sound a little deeper than his normal chuckles, and he takes Prowl’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Prowl smiles at him, a real smile, not the little smirks that Ironhide has seen in the past few days.

“So – where to now, Prowler?”

“I thought maybe we could help Mirage settle the room. Help him run a security check.”

Jazz shakes his helm. “We don’ got a room yet. Prime’s got us all split up now that we’re outta Ratchet’s wires.”

Prowl’s smile falls from his face. “Teach me not to check the list.” he mutters. “Who’s with who?”

“Hound and Raj, Bee’s wit Cliffjumper, Ah’m wit Blaster, and yer wit Smokescreen.” Jazz is almost pouting by the time he finishes his list. “Ah don’ know any of them, and Ah don’ trust ‘em either. Especially not Smokescreen.”

Prowl nods to himself as he considers this. “I suppose it makes sense. Cliffjumper is a mini like Bee, and Smokescreen is another Praxian.”

“Ah don’ care. Ah still don’ trust ‘em.”

From his position by the door (clearly they know he’s watching them), Ironhide decides to speak up. “Smokey and Blaster are fine. Jumper can be a bit of an ass, but once you get used to him, he’s a pretty good mech.”

Jazz casts his glare towards Ironhide. “So ya say.”

“You think I’d lie to you?”

“Ah think ya ain’ lookin’ at things like an ops mech.” comes the expected retort. “There’s a difference between bein’ a good mech an’ bein’ able ta protect yer teammate.”

Ironhide could take offense to that, but Chromia did warn him that Jazz is almost insanely protective of his team. Prowl almost equally so. So instead of going off on Jazz, Ironhide decides to go a different route. “No one rooms with their teams like that. We learn to depend on more than just one or two other mechs. However, if you’re gonna be anal about it, you can always try to clear out one of the storage rooms. They might be big enough.”

Prowl examines him for a moment, the intensity of the look making Ironhide almost squirm. The tac officer’s optics have changed to a dark blue, and that unnerves Ironhide even more. He’s gotta give the rumors a little bit of credit – Prowl can be a damn scary mech when he puts his mind to it.

“Of course we’re going to be anal about it, Ironhide.” he says quietly. “When you’re in ops, you learn not everyone is who they claim to be. You limit who you trust to who you can verify.”

“So that means you don’t trust any of us?”

“Ya said it, not us.” Jazz points out with a wry grin. “C’mon, Prowler – let’s go find that storage closet.”

“I imagine Mirage is already on it.” But Prowl allows Jazz to link their arms together and walk out of the office.

Ironhide stands there for a moment, debating the merits of following. Then he hears Chromia call after the two and knows she’ll fill him in when he asks her later.

He leans against the wall and shutters his optics, groaning. A chuckle draws his attention.

“I take it you’ve met our new additions.”

That just makes him groan more. “Jumper. What a pleasure.”

Cliffjumper leans against the wall across from Ironhide and glares at the floor. “I hate this. I’ve never had a roommate before, and now they stick me with an ops mech.” He practically spits out the word. “Cons, the whole dirty lot of them.”

“Jumper, you think _everyone_ is a Con.”

“I’m positive that Jazz is. Probably Mirage and Hound as well, but definitely Jazz. I haven’t figured out Prowl and Bumblebee yet.”

Ironhide groans again. “And I’m sure when you do, you’ll decide they’re Cons as well.”

“Maybe.” Jumper pushes off the wall and stretches. “Well, I guess I need to go make sure my new _roommate_ feels welcome and fuzzy inside.” He waves at Ironhide and walks away. Ironhide just watches him go.

Until things get settled, until this team gets comfortable with their new surroundings, this is going to suck so hard.

What was Optimus thinking?


	15. the soldier he became

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know how much I appreciate ya'll's reviews and kudos, here's the next chapter a bit earlier than anticipated. You guys miss Blue?

It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one that the team is not well received in Iacon.

Part of it is Prime’s attitude. For the longest time, spec ops were kept at arm’s length, known about but never discussed, and that’s the way the entirety of the Iacon base is used to things being done. Now there’s a team on base, completely flying the face of what Prime has held close for so long, and it makes mechs suspicious. There’s rumors going around as to why this team, the best ops team that the Autobots have, ranging from blackmail to secret family relationships. 

The rest of it has a lot to do with Cliffjumper.

He’s not shy about speaking his suspicions of the team, even though he does like Bumblebee, however grudgingly. Some of the other minis are picking up on his viewpoints.

Then there’s Bluestreak.

It takes the youngling almost a week to realize the team is on base. The next day, Prowl and Jazz find themselves accosted by an excited Bluestreak on their way to get energon.

“Prowl!” The tac officer turns just enough to catch Bluestreak’s hug from the side instead of the back. The youngling is still a full head and shoulders shorter than him, not quite in his adult frame yet. Prowl staggers back a step, and Jazz automatically reaches out to steady him. 

The entirety of the rec room holds its breath as Prowl blinks down at his new attachment, recognition slowly dawning in his optics.

“Bluestreak?”

The youngling beams up at him. “Yeah! You remember me! I’m so glad you’re here – I thought I was never gonna see you again!”

“I was not aware you stayed with Prime’s team.” Prowl murmurs. 

“Yeah – Optimus thought it would be best, considering how few Praxians there are left. Kinda noticeable, you know?” He pauses only long enough for Prowl to nod before directing his attention to Jazz. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you. I’m Bluestreak.” He reaches out and shakes Jazz’s hand.

“’m Jazz. Ah’m Prowl’s team leader.”

Bluestreak’s optics brighten with excitement. “Oh wow! I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you one day! If you hadn’t brought your team out there, Prowl never would have found me!” He lets go of Prowl and latches on to Jazz. The Polyhexian stiffens considerably.

Prowl watches the exchange with amusement. “You have no clue what to do, do you?”

“Not at all.” Jazz almost whines. “Help meh, Prowler.”

“Hug him back. Pat him on the helm, tell him you’re glad to officially meet him.” Prowl’s exceedingly dry tone elicits laughter out of those mechs close enough to hear it. Jazz glares at him, but he follows Prowl’s instructions. Bluestreak lets go with a bright laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hug you every time I see you – I just really wanted to do that because I know you guys are the only reason I’m alive and – “

“Breathe, Blue.” Ironhide warns gently. Bluestreak chuckles and nods. Ironhide continues, not even bothering to stand from his seat. “He’s a good kid – knows when to be quiet, but once he gets going, sometimes he forgets to shut up and let someone else talk.”

“He probably shouldn’t be talking to them.” Cliffjumper says from the other side of the rec room. “There’s no telling what he’ll accidentally let slip.”

That shuts everyone up. The tension is almost palpable as Bluestreak turns to face him. “What are you implying?” he snaps.

Cliffjumper meets his gaze evenly. “That maybe Jazz’s team is the reason Praxus no longer exists.”

The reaction is instantaneous. Jazz snarls and reaches for his phaser. Prowl takes a step back out of the line of fire. Bluestreak manages to beat Jazz to the punch.

He throws his empty energon cube and whacks Cliffjumper upside the helm with it. From all the way across the rec room. A distance of at least 200 meters.

“You shut up! Prowl’s the one who dug me out – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

For a second, no one moves. Jazz blinks. “Tha’s a damn good shot, Blue.”

And just like that, the anger and tension are gone. Bluestreak grins up at Jazz. “Thanks! I’m in training to be a sharpshooter.”

“Yer gonna be great at it. Yer a natural.”

Bluestreak beams happily at them. “Thanks! Maybe when I’m done with my training I’ll be able to join your team.”

Prowl and Jazz exchange looks. Prowl looks mildly amused; Jazz just looks panicked. Ironhide decides to make the situation more awkward. After all, this is funny. “It’s all he’s been talking about since he recovered. You’d break his spark if you said no.”

Prowl just laughs. “If I had something, I’d throw it at you.” He puts his hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about it closer to time, okay? But don’t limit yourself to just ops. Your talents may be better used elsewhere.”

Bluestreak nods. “Okay. Well, I need to get to comms – Smokescreen is going on patrol. See you guys later!” With that, he darts off.

Jazz stares after him in shock. “Ah wasn’ expectin’ that.” 

“Neither was I.” Prowl turns back to the dispenser and retrieves two cubes. He hands one to Jazz. “It is good to know he’s doing alright.”

Jazz snorts, but the pair start to walk away. “Righ’. Like ya haven’ bee monitorin’ him through his records.” he teases gently. Prowl just laughs, but Ironhide notices he doesn’t deny it.

Ops mechs are paranoid fraggers.

Cliffjumper watches them go. “They’re gonna kill him. If they think they need to.”

“Cliffjumper.” The deep voice startles everyone – even Jumper snaps to attention. Optimus stands just behind him, fixing him with a dark look. “I would advise you keep your opinions to yourself. It is your right to have them, but it is not your right to endanger innocent mechs by voicing them.”

Jumper lifts his chin. “There’s nothing _innocent_ about them.”

Prime merely inclines his helm. “There is until proven otherwise.” With that, the Autobot leader leaves the room.

Ironhide just returns his attention to his energon. Beside him, Chromia scowls. “I don’t get those two.” she mutters. “They’re good mechs. Why can’t they see that?”

“Prime’s a little too naïve for his own good.” Ironhide comments dryly. “And Jumper’s a jackass.” He glances at her. “Keep an eye on them.”

“You think Jumper can do anything to an ops team?”

“I think that team can do plenty to him, if they think they need to.” he retorts. “Just keep watch. Please.”

She mock salutes him. “You got it, boss.”

That earns her a gentle shove. 

Things calm down after that, but Ironhide doesn’t miss the dark glare that stays on Jumper’s features.


	16. murphy's law

Ops has a series of rules that are largely unspoken but understood by all who are or work with ops. The most pertinent of those rules is one that Jazz actually coined, but every ops team understands and follows.

If you have enough missions that go smoothly, the next one to go to hell will do so in the most spectacular way possible. It’s like the universe is making up for all the times the team got away scott-free.

It’s not often the ops team runs co-missions with the rest of the army. This time, though, the army is a diversion to allow Jazz’s team to penetrate the Decepticon stronghold closest to Iacon – and consequently the greatest threat. 

This is the first real op they’ve run under Prime’s control. Optimus can tell they’re nervous – hell, he’s nervous. This is his first op as well, and he prays to Primus above that he doesn’t frag this up. Jazz, Mirage, Hound, and Bee are out in the field. Prowl is at HQ coordinating with Smokescreen to keep everything coherent. It’s taken hours of careful maneuvering to get the team into position and not tip off the ‘Cons. As far as Prime knows, the Decepticons aren’t aware of Iacon’s new addition to the army. Prime and Magnus agreed it was best not to advertise. The other ops teams have been instructed to keep silent on the matter. This should be easy enough.

Still, Prowl is _scared_. Optimus can see it in his black optics and laser-like focus. The moment of truth is at hand, and Prowl’s doorwings are as stiff as the rest of him. 

“Bluestreak, do you have a visual?” Smokescreen asks, battle computer humming.

_“Affirmative.”_

There’s a little hitch to the sniper’s voice, and Prime is forcibly reminded that this is Blue’s moment of truth as well. The young Praxian insisted on being allowed to participate, but now Optimus wonders at the wisdom of letting him go.

Too late now.

“Hold your position. Do not fire until I give the order.” Smokescreen is calm and collected despite the tension, everything Optimus could ask of a mech being groomed to be his TO. The older Praxian glances at Prowl. “Send the team in. Once they breach, we’ll start the attack.”

Prowl barely acknowledges him. “Hound, sit-rep.” 

“Just give the order, Prowl!”

_“Got a sentry out here, about five clicks north of our position.”_ Hound reports. _“He hasn’t spotted us.”_

Smokescreen is starting to lose his patience. “Are we done being paranoid? Give the damn order.”

Prowl ignores him, just like he’s been doing for the majority of the mission. “Bluestreak, is anyone within the engagement zone?”

_“Just the first wave.”_ It doesn’t escape Prime’s notice that Bluestreak seems much calmer when dealing with Prowl. 

Smokescreen growls under his breath. “Jazz, take the team in. Do it now.”

The response is immediate and completely expected. _“Sorry, mech – Ah take mah orders from Prowl.”_ There’s a general murmur of assent from the other ops mechs, and Smokescreen utters a wordless snarl. 

Optimus takes a step forward. “Prowl – “

Suddenly, it clicks. Whatever has been bothering Prowl about this entire mission finally solidifies, and he swears. “Shit! Jazz, fall back – you’ve been made. First wave, fall back! It’s an ambush!”

Optimus cuts across him. “Soldiers, hold your positions. Prowl, explain this.”

_“Frag ya, Prime.”_ All traces of Jazz’s usual good humor are gone, and their tracers show them abandoning their posts. _“Prowl says git out, Ah’m gittin’ out. Ironhide, git the front wave out.”_

“Jazz, I said hold your position!”

But Prowl isn’t even attempting to explain. He’s gone into full ops mode, ignoring what’s a hindrance and focusing on what can help his team. “Blue, can you get a lock on that sentry Hound scented?”

_“Got him.”_

“Mech or drone?”

_“Drone.”_

“Frag it all.” Prowl swears. “Jazz, keep falling back. Hound, keep look out for drones approaching from the east. They’ll be trying to cut you off from the rest. Blue, take out that drone, now!”

“No, Blue!” Smokescreen snaps. “You shoot, the whole plan goes to hell.”

“It already has!” Prowl is shouting now, staring at his screen with bright, vacant optics, as if willing the young sniper to make the connections he has. “Blue, if you don’t shoot, the team dies!”

_“Sorry, Smokey.”_ Blue says quietly. _“Prowl’s team, Prowl’s call.”_

He takes the shot.

On the ground, chaos erupts. The drone drops, and thousands pop up from their hiding places, cutting off the first wave’s retreat. The drones surround Jazz’s team, effectively isolating them from the rest of the army.

In HQ, Prowl goes mobile. He takes only a moment to establish comms with Jazz, then he’s out the door and down the hall before Prime can call him back. In a flash, Blaster is beside him. Prowl raises an optic ridge in question. Blaster shrugs. 

“What? I’m handy in a fight.”

In the end, Prowl and Blaster are joined by Chromia and Arcee, one of the other femmes stationed at Iacon. The four of them hitch a ride with Skyfire, who’s bringing reinforcements to the first wave, and he drops them right into the middle of the fight.

The four surround the ops team, taking over the fight for a few precious seconds. That’s all the team needs to catch their breath. Jazz falls in beside Prowl and flashes him a wild grin.

“Hell of a party, ain’ it?”

Prowl returns the grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

/-------/

They win the fight, in the sense that they come home from it.

There are too many injuries, too many fatalities, for Optimus to be comfortable calling this a victory. The original objective failed – drones run colder than mechs, with no spark signatures and virtually no scents, and consequently they were missed by everyone’s scans – but at least they mostly made it back. They didn’t lose any ground to the ‘Cons, but they didn’t gain any, either. Another draw.

Any dark thoughts Optimus may have entertained about the fight are immediately shoved from his mind as he watches the uninjured walk into the rec room. Smokescreen’s voice catches everyone’s attention.

“What were you thinking, Blue!”

Bluestreak just stares up at him, fists clenched but trembling, as a very angry Smokescreen bears down on him. He’s fighting the urge to run, Prime knows, and he has to admire the youngling for it. An angry Smokescreen is a scary Smokescreen.

“Prowl gave the order.”

“I don’t give a shit what Prowl said! You aren’t ops – you follow my orders! You could have gotten them all killed!” He reaches out and shoves the youngling back a few paces. Optimus steps forward, ready to diffuse the situation –

And suddenly Prowl is _there_ , standing between Smokey and Blue, stained energon sword held to Smokey’s throat. His optics burn black, and his doorwings are raised high in clear threat. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to join him, forming a living wall around Blue. 

None of them escaped the battle unscathed. It makes for an extremely intimidating statement.

“Touch him again, and I will gut you.”

Prowl’s voice lacks all emotion, just as cold as his expression, and Smokey falls back. “You –“

He never gets the chance to finish what he wants to say. Prowl strikes him across the face with the butt of his sword. “Your orders almost killed my family. And now you want to take out your inadequacies on our youngling. Do yourself a favor – _frag off.”_

Jazz just grins. “Damn, that’s hot.”

Hound laughs. “Nice to know that hasn’t changed since I’ve been away.”

Just like that, the tension is cut. The group – now including Bluestreak – make their way out of the rec room and to Ratchet’s medbay. Optimus watches them go.

Jazz stops just beside Prime for a brief moment, but long enough to deliver his own message.

“When we say that Prowl is scary good, we ain’ just chattin’ him up.” he bites out. “Ya might wanna remember tha’ next time.” 

And then they’re gone, leaving a stunned Autobot army in their wake.


	17. a matter of trust

Over the months of rooming with Jazz, Blaster has learned a great many things about the ops mech.

Most importantly, he’s a paranoid fragger. Blaster learned pretty quick not to move from his berth once Jazz went into recharge. It doesn’t take much to wake him, and in the beginning, it took him a moment to realize where he was and who was in his room. That moment was usually long enough for Blaster to wind up with an energon dagger at his throat. 

Blaster might take that personally if Jazz didn’t wake up every time _anything_ changed in the room – even when others of his team drop by. The door opens, Blaster gets up, someone knocks, and Jazz is awake. 

After the fight (Blaster hesitates to call it a battle) and after Ratchet has everyone patched up, the injured are allowed to return to their quarters if they can. Jazz and Blaster are capable of returning to theirs. It doesn’t take long for Jazz to pass out cold on his berth, face down. Blaster just settles on his berth and starts to read. 

Twenty minutes later, the door opens, and Prowl steps in. Blaster tilts his helm in question, but Prowl merely shakes his helm and walks over to Jazz’s berth. He watches his sleeping teammate for a moment before gently pushing him towards the edge of the berth and curling up beside him. Jazz shifts a little into the new source of warmth, but otherwise doesn’t react.

And Blaster can only stare in awe. Prowl offers him a two-finger wave before falling into recharge himself.

Huh. Well, that’s odd.

Even odder is watching Jazz wake up the next morning. He wakes maybe five minutes before Prowl does, right after Blaster decides to get up, and he just stares at the armful of Prowl he finds himself with. Blaster grins.

“I didn’t think you could recharge through anything.”

“When the frag did he get here?”

“Maybe 20 minutes after you crashed.” Blaster heads into the washroom. “Ratchet wants us all in for checkups.”

“Of course he does.” Prowl grumbles. He stretches a little and smiles up at Jazz. “Problems?”

“Why ain’ ya in yer quarters?” Neither mech has made a move to extract themselves from their rather compromising position. In fact, Blaster muses, both seem to be exceedingly comfortable right where they are. 

“Smokescreen changed the code. I wasn’t in the mood to hack the lock.”

Jazz’s visor flashes. Blaster watches from the washroom door, keeping completely still. He’s seen that look before – usually right before all hell breaks loose around the mech. “He did what now?”

Prowl just gives him a look. “Are you really surprised? It’s not like we got along before I overrode his orders.”

“Ya really think Ah’m gonna let that slide?”

“Considering that your pranks usually involve explosions and a lot of death, I was hoping you would.” comes the mild response. Jazz snarls something under his breath. Prowl merely continues, his voice much quieter. “We cannot afford to retaliate in any way – at least not obviously. You know that. Our position is precarious as it is.”

“Don’ mean Ah gotta like it.” Jazz sighs. For a brief moment, he rests his helm against Prowl’s shoulder. His entire frame seems to shudder. “Damn it all. Tha’ was too close last night.”

“Not the worst close call we’ve ever had.” Prowl reminds him, cupping the back of his helm in a comforting gesture. Jazz snorts.

“True enough.” He starts to get up, but Prowl tightens his grip just a little bit. Jazz settles back down, looking at his partner with a curious expression. “Prowler?”

“It will get better. He will learn how to use us properly.”

Jazz’s lip curls in a sneer. “He’s a sparklin’ tha’s been given a hand grenade.”

“A nuke would be a more accurate description.” Prowl meets his sneer with an even expression. “But he will learn. Optimus is not one to repeat mistakes. This will get better.”

For a long moment, Jazz just stares at him. Finally, he sighs. “Ya know, Ah hate it when ya use that tone. Ah’ll always believe ya when ya use it.”

That makes Prowl smile just a little. “How so?” he asks, but Jazz just shakes his helm. 

_Do exactly as I say, and I will get you out of this alive._

How is he supposed to explain something like that? That tone is something he will always associate with that first encounter, the way he just instinctively knew that he could trust this Prowl, no matter what. So he just smiles at Prowl as he gets up and watches Prowl do the same.

“No reason. Just hafta.”

“Ah. Then for the sake of my sanity, I won’t question it further.”

“Prowler!” Jazz laughs and gives him a shove. Together the two leave the quarters and head to the communal washroom. For some reason, Jazz only cleans up when he has his team with him. 

Blaster can only stand there and watch, completely baffled.

Looks like Prowl is the exception to one of Jazz’s rules, at least.

/-------/

As the week marches on, Blaster watches Prowl and Jazz.

Turns out Prowl is the exception to most of Jazz’s rules. He’s the only mech that can get away with walking directly behind Jazz, leaning against him at random times, and even attempting to sneak up on him. The way they fight in the training room, heckle each other as they walk, the non-existent personal space that exists with everyone else _but them –_

Well, honestly, Blaster isn’t really surprised that most mechs think they’re bonded.

If Prowl and Jazz are aware of the rumors, they don’t show it. Nor do they allow the stares and the whispers to affect the way they behave around each other. Blaster has already known exactly how protective of the team Prowl is – he was there when Prowl almost gutted Smokey, after all – but it turns out Jazz is just as protective of them. Especially Prowl. It shows in the way he stays even closer than normal whenever a threat comes near.

So, Blaster has to wonder. Just how close are Jazz and Prowl that they can get past all of each other’s barriers? 

He doubts he’ll find out anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People keep asking me for fluff. Does this qualify? I think it's about as close as this story gets.


	18. a semblance of acceptance

The week following the battle, Gunner shows up in Iacon, at Prime’s request.

Honestly, he’s not sure what he’s expecting. He reviewed the file on the battle on the way over, and quite frankly, he’s livid. Any sparkling would know not to involve the regular army in ops matters. It was only Prowl’s quick thinking and Bluestreak’s quick compliance that kept any more mechs from dying. 

So, he shows up with the full intention of chewing Prime out. Instead, as he enters the rec room in search of the leader, he finds his team set up in their own corner. With a small frown, he stops and watches them.

Ops have never mixed well with the regular army, but never has it been more clear than it is here. There’s Prowl, Jazz, Mirage, Hound, and Bee all huddled together, talking and laughing and generally looking comfortable with themselves. But Jazz keeps scanning the rec room, looking especially in the direction of a group of minis. On the other side of them is Ironhide and Chromia, at their own table but still engaging the group. As Gunner watches, two more mechs – he thinks Blaster and Bluestreak – join the ops team.

Huh. Might as well stop by and say hi before he proceeds to Prime’s office.

He doesn’t get very close before Jazz spots him. “Gunner! Ah’m glad ta see ya – Ah’ve had ta be diplomatic!” Jazz wails, putting on his best pathetic display. Mirage rolls his optics.

“Yes, he’s been so put upon. Can you tell?”

Jazz glares at him. “If yer tone was any drier, ya’d give th’ desert a run fer its money.” he grumbles. “Ah hate bein’ diplomatic. Gunner c’n do it now.”

Gunner has to reset his optics. “Whose bright idea was it to make Jazz the people person here?”

“Apparently, Prowl can no longer be trusted.” Hound laughs. Prowl merely flicks his doorwings in a shrug. Jazz snorts.

“Yeah, cuz the last time Ah let ‘im do it, he nearly gutted Smokey.”

“In my defense, Gunner, Smokescreen had it coming.” Prowl says easily. Bluestreak snickers. Prowl smirks at him before turning his full attention to Gunner. “What brings you to Iacon?”

“Optimus did.” Gunner sighs. “Apparently, our Prime doesn’t know how to handle an ops team. So, he brought me in for some training himself.” Prowl and Jazz exchange looks, but Gunner dismisses it. He knows how those two operate. Instead, he turns his attention to the two new mechs who have joined the group. “You two must be Bluestreak and Blaster, right? How did you guys get this close to the team?”

Blaster grins. “We don’t have quarters large enough for an entire team. So, I wound up being Jazz’s roommate. You have a paranoid fragger for a second, you know that?”

Gunner laughs. “Kid, you’re not telling me anything I haven’t figured out a long time ago.” he teases. Blaster just laughs. Gunner looks over at Bluestreak. “And you? How did you get in on this?”

“I’m the Praxus survivor.” Bluestreak says simply. “Prowl’s the one who rescued me.”

“And the rest of us just sort of adopted him.” Mirage adds, tone dry. “He’s got a hell of an aim.” 

Gunner nods. “From what I gathered, you went against Smokescreen’s orders. How did he handle that?”

Jazz snorts. “Poorly. Tha’s why Prowler here tried ta gut him.”

“I wouldn’t have actually gutted him.” Prowl protests lightly. “That’s not where I was aiming.”

“Nah, ya would have decapitated ‘im then.” Jazz snips. “An’ now yer roomin’ wit me an’ Blaster.”

Blaster grins. “You say that like I should care. At least when he’s around you freak out a little less.” he teases. Jazz’s visor flickers.

“Ah freak out at all?”

Mirage snorts. “Well, Blaster said it – you’re a paranoid fragger.” he points out. “However, you do tend to freak out less if it’s Prowl. Like when he leaves the quarters to go sparring at night.”

Jazz has to pause a moment to digest that. “Huh. Ah never noticed.”

“We did.” Mirage, Bee, and Hound all say simultaneously.

Gunner chuckles. “Well, I need to go see Prime. I’ll be around for a while, though.” With that, he gets up and leaves.

/-------/

It’s not common knowledge that the head of ops is also Prime’s TIC. Although Gunner has always been more involved in his ops duties than any duty towards Prime, he still retains the position, even if it is in name only. Which means he has the right to bust Prime down like he’s a sparkling.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how stupid you are.”

“No, I’m aware.” Prime leans back in his chair and sighs. “So, tell me something – when I agreed to take on Jazz’s team, what exactly did I get? I’m familiar enough with ops, but not with them.”

Gunner sighs. “There are a total of 20 teams under my command. Out of all of them, Jazz’s team is the one with the highest success ratio. They’re also the ones with the most unconventional methods. Jazz likes taking the rulebook and burning it. So unfortunately, the only way to really prepare you for the nuclear device you just inherited is to make you work with it for a while.”

“Hopefully with you sticking around?”

“Of course. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me that to begin with.” Gunner hesitates. “How is the team relating to the other soldiers?”

“Not well at all. I’m afraid my own prejudices haven’t helped matters. And then there’s Cliffjumper.”

“Minibot?”

“Yep. Thinks the whole team is a bunch of ‘Cons. From what I gathered, he tried to pin the destruction of Praxus on Jazz and the team.”

“And he lives?”

“Well, he said this in front of Bluestreak, Prowl, and Jazz. Ironhide told me Blue got to him first. Knocked him in the helm with an energon cube.” There’s a hint of pride in Prime’s voice. “There’s a few that get along with them well enough. Chromia, Ironhide, Ratchet, Bluestreak, and Blaster. I might have added Smokescreen to that list, but not anymore.”

Gunner nods, considering. “What are Bluestreak and Blaster’s specialties?”

“Sniping and communications, in that order.” Optimus arches an optic ridge at the slow smile that spreads across Gunner’s face. “Need I remind you that Blue is still a youngling, and Blaster has never shown an inclination towards ops at all?”

“I’m not saying I wanna make them permanent members of the team.” Gunner protests, but he never loses that smile. “I’m just thinking that’s a handy piece of information to have. It’s nice to have allies in the normal forces.”

“I second that.” Optimus leans back. “Now, I’m going to need everything you have on Jazz’s team. Mission reports, disciplinary actions, everything. If I’m going to use them properly, I need to know what I have at my disposal.”

Gunner inclines his helm. “Of course.”


	19. introducing a little anarchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ready to meet the Twins?

Two days after Gunner arrives, the Twins return from Kaon.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have a reputation in Iacon. They’re troublemakers, Sideswipe an eternal prankster, Sunstreaker a violent brawler, and they always have each other’s backs. Everyone knows to screw with one is to screw with both of them, and everyone knows the Twins have taken a shine to Bluestreak.

In all honesty, no one is really surprised. When Blue first arrived on base, he wasn’t afraid of the Twins. In fact, he sought out their company more often than not, simply because they were scary bastards. They were scarier than his nightmares, but they were on his side, and that’s all he needed to feel safe. The Twins, not quite used to being seen as scary good instead of just scary, took Blue under their wing.

When they get back to Iacon, the first thing they hear about is the new ops team, and the way Blue has taken a shine to them. Time to gather some information.

They decide to start with Prowl.

Finding the Praxian is easy enough. He’s in the training room, watching as Ironhide puts Blue and a few others through some close-combat training. They come up behind him, relying on the noise the trainees are making to cover their steps, but Prowl’s voice stops them cold.

“You must be the twins everyone is talking about.” He glances over his shoulder at them. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to come find me.”

The Twins exchange looks. “You knew we’d come specifically for you?” Sunstreaker asks.

Prowl’s wings flick in a dismissive gesture. “Tac is generally considered weak and easy to exploit. If you didn’t come to me first, I’d be worried about how you survived this long.” He turns his attention fully to them. “What can I help you with?”

Sideswipe decides to change tactics. Prowl doesn’t seem to be intimidated by them in the least. “I’m Sideswipe. This is my brother, Sunstreaker. And we hear your team has taken a shine to our little Praxian friend, Blue.” 

“And we would really like to know why.” Sunny says, picking up where his twin left off. “After all, there’s not many that tolerate Blue very well. They say he talks too much.”

“Hm, so I’ve heard.” Prowl fixes them with a piercing stare. “I could ask the same thing about you. What does a pair of frontliners have in common with a youngling who’s being trained to be a sniper? Especially one who has already made it plain he wants to be in ops?”

The Twins exchange looks again. Before either can say anything, Blue notices their presence. “Sunny, Sides, you’re back!” Suddenly he’s trying to hug both of them at the same time. Sides laughs and hugs him back. Sunny just smiles, but it’s clear he enjoys the attention. 

Comprehension flashes in Prowl’s optics, but it’s gone by the time Blue realizes he’s standing there as well. “Wow, this is awesome. You guys already met Prowl! He’s the one who rescued me from Praxus – and his whole team is here, too! Isn’t that great? I thought I was never gonna see them again, but then they came here.”

Sunny’s gaze snaps up to Prowl. “You couldn’t just say that to begin with?”

Prowl smirks. “Where’s the fun in that? I thought you wanted a challenge.” He tilts his helm to the side, then sighs. “Gunner calls. I’ll see you later tonight, Blue.” Blue nods happily, and Prowl leaves the training room.

Sunny and Sides exchange looks. “Okay, Blue – looks like it’s up to you to fill us in on what’s happened since we left.”

Blue nods. “Of course. Let’s go get some energon – I’m done for the day.”

/----/

Optimus and Gunner watch the army from the observation deck. The rec room technically has two levels – the lower level where everyone eats and plays and generally cuts loose, and a balcony that runs all the way around the rec room. This is usually where the higher-ups watch the troops, both to keep an eye out for possible problems and just because it’s fun watching the games the others play. This time it’s a little bit of both.

“Looks like Prowl has caught the Twins’ interest.” Optimus says with a chuckle. “I’m not surprised.”

Gunner frowns. “Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? I guess that means they’re back from Kaon then.”

“Yes. Their mission took longer than I was hoping.”

“You sure they just didn’t take their time about it? They do love the gladiator pits.”

Optimus chuckles. “It’s a possibility.” he allows. “But as much as they love fighting, they love Bluestreak more.” 

Gunner arches an optic ridge. “Love? They’re a little young for that.”

“True enough, but that doesn’t mean anything to them. Time will tell how long that’ll last. For now, it’s not like they’re planning on bonding anytime soon, and that’s all that counts.” Gunner nods, and Optimus continues. “It’ll be interesting to see how they take to the ops team. They’re rather possessive of Blue.”

Gunner snorts. “Yeah, that won’t end well. If Prowl doesn’t flatten them, Jazz will.”

“I wasn’t aware Prowl had received combat training.” Optimus says. “Last I checked, tac never goes into the field. All Prowl has had is basic self-defense from the Academy.”

“Tac never does, but Prowl does when the occasion calls for it.” Gunner retorts. “How do you think he wound up out there during the minefield incident?” 

“I was hoping that was a one-time thing.” Prime admits. “Then he took off during that last mission.”

“He doesn’t like his team being out there and him unable to help.” Gunner says flatly. “It’s not something we can train out of him or forbid him to do. He’s already proven that.”

“True.” Prime sighs. “The only thing we can do is give him the training to survive it.”

“I really don’t think he needs it. I’ve seen him fight with Jazz and Mirage during training – he can hold his own. Trust me, those two don’t hold back.” The two return their attention to the rec room. Jazz now has the Twins’ attention. From up here, they can’t hear what’s being said, but suddenly the Twins turn their gaze to Smokescreen. Sideswipe nods. Jazz grins. The three shake hands, and the Twins vanish from the room while Jazz returns to the team. Gunner blinks. “What just happened?”

“I think we just witnessed the initiation of a prank war.” Optimus says dryly. “Primus help Smokescreen. The Twins do not play nice.”

“Huh. So that’s how Jazz plans to get him back.”

“I’m surprised he’s not taking care of it himself. Smokey did kick Prowl out, after all.”

“Yeah, but Jazz’s pranks tend to involve massive amounts of collateral damage.”

For a moment, Optimus is silent. “I never thought I’d say this, but I definitely prefer the Twins’ pranks.”

Gunner bursts out laughing.


	20. iacon prank wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you guys the same warning I gave the FF.net crew - I suck at coming up with pranks. So this chapter is less prank-city and more character development with the pranks just being mentioned. I hope you're not too disappointed.

Ratchet can honestly say that an all-out prank siege is a really odd way to get to know someone. Then again, he’s known the Twins for as long as they’ve been Autobots, and they’ve never done things the normal way.

Like Bluestreak, the Twins came to the Autobots as younglings, not too much older than Bluestreak is now, an abusive past leaving them with severe trust issues that Ratchet figured they would never get over. As far as Ratchet can tell, he’s the only one besides Blue who simply isn’t afraid of the Twins. As a result, they spend as much time around him as they can.

They’re practically his sparklings, for all the care he’s put into them.

And now they’re pranking the hell out of Smokescreen at the behest of Jazz, and all for the approval of Prowl and Bluestreak.

Strange mechs, the lot of them.

Prowl’s complete lack of fear of the Twins has caught their attention. In fact, the Praxian seems downright comfortable around them, not minding when they decide to watch op training, or stalk the tac room (as Prowl’s office has become known as) listening in on plan outlines. While Optimus learns how to use his new team properly, said team has decided to use that time to outline thousands of plans based on all the various ways a mission can go wrong. Sometimes Prowl pulls the Twins into those plans.

As the Twins get closer to the ops team, their prank campaign against Smokescreen just gets more intense.

Poor Smokey has no clue what he’s done wrong. Ratchet almost finds it funny. 

Optimus walks in on the aftermath of one of the more unusual pranks. Ratchet is giving Smokescreen a new paint job – and how the Twins managed to paint him _sparkly neon pink_ is beyond Prime, they normally don’t involve glitter in their pranks like that – and Smokescreen is complaining bitterly about the whole thing.

“I just don’t get it.” he tells Ratchet. Neither of them have noticed Prime yet. “The Twins haven’t been back long enough for me to have pissed them off! What the hell gives?”

Ratchet pauses in his task long enough to smack Smokey in the back of the helm. “I thought tac was supposed to be smart.” he snips. “Who have the Twins fallen in with since they’ve gotten back?”

Smokey glares at him. “I’m not stupid, Ratchet. I know they’ve taken a shine to ops.”

“Apparently, you’re stupid enough. Who on ops have you pissed off recently?”

The tac officer stills. Ratchet nods. “There’s your answer.”

“But the Twins never prank at the request of someone else.”

“Maybe it started off that way. And maybe now they’re _friends_ with Prowl, and they’re getting revenge for their _friend_.”

It doesn’t look like that sits well with Smokescreen. Honestly, it doesn’t still well with Prime. The Twins have always been a major wild card in the Autobot army. No one has ever known exactly where their loyalties lie, and as a consequence, it would surprise no one for them to turn ‘Con. Ratchet is the only one that seems to have a handle on them, and if anyone asks, he starts throwing things at them.

Now they’re becoming integrated rather nicely with the ops team, which for most of the base, is another wild card. Prime doesn’t really know how he feels about that. He’s not surprised, though.

“I didn’t think ops made friends.” Smokey’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Ratchet snorts. “Yeah, and you and Prime would be the only ones to think that way.” he mutters darkly. “If you would _think_ instead of letting your own damn prejudices blind you, you would realize that they’ve been making friends from the beginning. Ironhide, Chromia, Bluestreak, Blaster – _me_.” The emphasis on that last one is hard to miss. It’s also a clear threat, and it shuts Smokey up for the moment.

Prime calmly backs away, the other mechs never knowing he was there.

Seems like Ratchet has a better handle on everything than he does. 

/-------/

He finds the team and the Twins in the training room. Everyone else has cleared out, letting the team have their fun. Even Gunner is in there, watching and making sure they haven’t lost their edge while Optimus finishes up his own training.

Right now, Prowl is sparring with the Twins. Both of them.

_And he’s winning._

Jazz materializes beside him, watching the fight with a smug smile on his faceplates. “Ya look like yer gonna catch flies.” he comments. “Can’t be that shockin’, watchin’ him fight.”

Optimus shakes his helm. “I never knew he had an interest in fighting.” he admits, his voice fainter than he would have liked. “At least, not like this.”

“Fer all the love he has of ops, an’ ya never knew he wanted ta fight?”

They watch as Prowl nimbly dodges Sunny’s attack, making him stumble into his brother. The two crash to the ground. Sunny starts swearing. Sides just laughs. Prowl smirks. “Stop advertising! I can see what you’re planning before you even have the chance to do it.”

Optimus sighs. “No. I hate to admit it, but I know very little about my own son.”

Jazz returns his attention to the sparring match. Prime glances over at him. He can see it, even past the visor – the warmth that Jazz seems to hold specifically for Prowl. Slowly, the ops mech smirks. 

“Well, yer gonna start learnin’.” Without glancing at Prime, he adds, “Ya got a reason fer comin’ down here?”

“I think you can call off your Twins.” Prime says dryly. “Ratchet finally beat some understanding into Smokey’s helm. And possibly mine as well.” Jazz chuckles.

“We’ll see ‘bout that.” He takes a step forward, then pauses. “Prime – Ah hate ta say it, but it’s abou’ damn time.”

Optimus chuckles as Jazz joins Gunner, calling out advice to the Twins as they struggle to get the upper hand on Prowl. He simply leans against the wall, watching silently as the team continues to train the Twins. Slowly, a small, real smile curves his lips. 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”


	21. get up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For maximum effect, listen to the song Get Up by the band All Good Things while you read this chapter. Let the angsting begin!

When it happens, it’s not even an op.

The ops teams very rarely fight in actual battles. They’re too valuable. Nothing can happen to the teams that make the army’s victories possible. However, this is one of those fights that have involved everyone. Even Ratchet has abandoned the safety of the base and is out in the melee, the Twins protecting him as he treats everyone he can. 

Jazz’s team has joined the fight as well, keeping the area around Ratchet as clear as they can. Ratchet keeps a sharp optic out on his surroundings even as he’s elbows-deep in a soldier’s internals. The ops team and the Twins have formed an impenetrable wall around him, evidenced by the bloody blades and pile of bodies slowly building up around them.

There will be no saving those mechs taken down by ops. They’re dead before they hit the ground. 

Even Optimus is watching the fight out of the corner of his optic as he fights alongside his soldiers. Prowl and Jazz move as one mech, backs to each other even as they move like lightning. Prowl’s twin swords drip with shed energon. Jazz’s dagger flashes as he cuts throats and shreds armor. 

Still, even with Optimus and Ratchet looking out, with the others of the team distracted with their own battles, no one sees the mech quite literally drop out of the sky on top of Prowl and Jazz. One of the Seekers must have given him a lift. The three of them tumble away from the rest, swearing up a storm, and suddenly two sounds rise above the rest of the battle.

Prowl’s cry of pain, and Jazz’s infuriated scream.

Prime doesn’t even hear the shot that takes down the unknown Decepticon. Bluestreak has found the perfect position, and no one will ever see him until he wants to be seen. He can’t see anything beyond the mass of mechs he’s fighting, can’t stop and make sure his son is okay like he wants to.

Bluestreak, however, can see everything through his scope. He can see the torn doorwing, the lacerated metal hanging from the sensitive panel, and the bloody gash across the left side of the Praxian’s helm.

“Prowl!” Jazz barely has the time to spare him a glance. The mech slowly pulls his knees up under him, raising himself to a kneeling position. His arms shake with the effort. Energon drips from his helm, from his doorwing. The shock of multiple systems failing threatens to send him into lockdown. Everything is muffled on his left side, and fading quickly. Sensor echoes.

He can barely hear Jazz’s voice.

“Prowl, get up!” Mirage’s voice, to his right, clearer than Jazz’s and sharper. Mirage and Jazz have left the circle around Ratchet, leaving the medic’s protection to the Twins, Hound, and Bee. There’s too many Decepticons. Prowl is going to have to stand on his own.

If he can find his balance.

From either side of the trembling mech, Jazz and Mirage exchange looks. Mirage nods, determination turning his optics to ice. Jazz flashes him a vicious smile.

This mech saved their lives. They’re going to save his.

“Prowl, ya gotta get up!” Jazz screams, turning his focus back to the battle. “We’ll git ya some time, but ya gotta get up!”

The pain is blinding. The loss of energon is threatening to send him into shock. He can barely find his balance.

He has to get up, or he’s going to die. Jazz and Mirage can’t fend off this many ‘Cons indefinitely.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a crouch.

Jazz is hyper aware of Prowl’s movements. He knows this has to end, soon. Prowl can barely stand, and there’s only so long he and Mirage will be able to protect him. 

Bee’s voice cuts across his rising panic. “Jazz, behind you!”

Neither Jazz nor Mirage get the chance to react. Prowl’s good doorwing twitches, and he twists around just enough to lunge forward and shove one of his swords into the ‘Con’s chassis. The mech folds over and dies without making a sound. Prowl flashes Jazz a weak grin.

“I’m not totally helpless. Good to know.”

Jazz can’t help but laugh at that.

Slowly, the battle is starting to pull apart. Jazz and Mirage close rank around Prowl, joined quickly by Bee and Hound. There’s the sound of gunfire behind them, and Jazz glances back to see Blaster joining their tight circle. Prowl stays where he is, in a trembling crouch, breathing turning ragged with every passing moment.

He’s always been a target, and now he’s an easy one. Even as the Decepticons pull back, there’s a brave few who try to get past the ops mechs to take out Prowl. Those who aren’t cut down by the ops team find themselves dropped by Bluestreak’s bullets.

Ratchet doesn’t need the frantic calls of the ops team to tell him what to do. As soon as the battle clears around them, he makes a beeline straight for them.

Prowl reaches up and touches the injured area. His hand shakes. Slowly, he looks up at Jazz. The mech’s visor is almost white.

“Prowler.”

“I’m sorry, Jazz.”

With that, the entire world goes black. Prowl falls to the ground, completely out. 

Jazz screams, his entire frame trembling. This time, there are no tears. There’s simply fear and pure, unbridled _rage_ , and all he can do is scream as Ratchet kneels beside Prowl and takes in the damage.

“Jazz!” Suddenly Mirage is in his face, pushing him back and away from the carnage. “Jazz, he’s still alive! Listen to me – he’s still alive! It’s gonna be okay. I promise you, it’s going to be okay.” 

There’s more, meaningless babble as far as Jazz is concerned. Still, his processor manages to lock on to part of what Mirage is saying.

Prowl is alive. It’s enough to let him get control of himself.

Ratchet doesn’t even act surprised by the outburst. He simply looks at Jazz with knowing optics as he says “Let’s get him back to the base.”

/---------/

The entire ops team is crowded outside of the med bay. Ratchet meets them at the door, unwilling to let them in and equally unwilling to leave his injured unattended. He’s not even surprised to see not just the team, but Optimus, Ironhide, the Twins, Bluestreak, and Blaster all waiting for news on the tac officer. Still, he keeps his focus on Jazz.

The ops leader is trembling, fury and fear fighting for dominance across his faceplates. Ratchet hopes his next words will calm him. “He’s stable.” The sudden release of tension is almost palpable, and the medic holds up a hand to stop the celebration. “He’s not out of the woods just yet. I don’t anticipate him dying by any stretch, but he did take severe damage to his helm and doorwing.”

“How bad is it?” Optimus asks quietly.

Ratchet pauses, unsure how the team will take the news. “The ‘Con knew what he was doing. The blow to his doorwing was just a distraction. His real target was Prowl’s helm – his battle computer.” He returns his focus to Jazz. “It’s destroyed. The knife didn’t just cut it – it ripped the thing out of his head. Tore out his left audio, too. The audio I can fix, and I will before he wakes up. The battle computer is a lost cause, and I’m leery about installing a new one while he’s out.”

To his surprise, Mirage chuckles. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that without asking him, first. He’s very, ah, _picky_ about that thing.”

Jazz speaks for the first time since they got back to the base. “But he’ll live?”

Ratchet nods. “Yeah, Jazz. He’s gonna live. That I can promise you.”

Mirage quickly grabs Jazz’s arm, steadying him as the relief nearly takes him to the ground. “Thank Primus.” he whispers. Mirage echoes the sentiment. Ratchet nods.

“That’s a word for it. He got lucky that’s all the damage he suffered, that I can see, at any rate.” He sighs. “Go to bed, all of you. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

Jazz opens his mouth to protest, but Mirage tugs on his arm. “Thanks, Ratchet.” Mirage says, guiding Jazz away.

Ratchet simply nods to Prime and goes back inside the med bay. Optimus sighs and follows his soldiers away from his son.

_Yes, thank Primus, indeed._


	22. consequences of our actions

When Prowl wakes up, he’s in the medbay of the Iacon base. He can tell almost immediately that he’s not alone – Jazz is to his right, holding his hand tightly. Mirage is on his left. Slowly, he onlines his optics. Jazz is watching him, visor dim. Mirage is talking to Ratchet. It takes Prowl a moment to focus on him, and in that moment, Jazz’s visor brightens.

“Yer awake.”

His voice is quiet, but it draws Mirage’s attention, which in turn draws Ratchet’s. Prowl merely smiles at Jazz.

“If it’s not a minefield, I’m not dying because of it.” His voice is rough and almost painful to hear, but Jazz’s grip on his hand tightens, and he laughs. Prowl’s smile grows wider. “I’m assuming something happened to my audio? I can barely hear Mirage.”

“How much do ya remember?”

“Some of it. I had to have been hurt pretty badly for you to still be hovering like this.” He attempts to sit up, but Jazz and Mirage both stop him. The vertigo hits a second later. “Something definitely happened to my audio.”

“It was torn out.” Ratchet says bluntly, coming to stand at the end of the berth. “Along with your battle computer.”

Prowl has to reset his optics. “My battle computer?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it right away. I’ve replaced your audio, although I’m keeping the input down until your internal repairs fix the wiring. Your balance will be affected until then. I would have replaced the battle computer, too, but Jazz and Mirage suggested I wait until you were awake and ask you.” Ratchet crosses his arms over his chassis. “So what is it that I need to know?”

Prowl doesn’t respond immediately. He considers the situation, keenly aware that Jazz has not let go of his hand yet. Something is wrong – the Polyhexian is _shaking,_ although it’s only his proximity that allows Prowl to notice. He needs to get through Ratchet before he can get Jazz alone and figure out the real problem here.

“That explains the vertigo.” he says finally. “As for the battle computer, leave it out.”

Ratchet shutters his optics and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Prowl, this is no time for saving face. Your team needs you to have that computer. You all rely on it.”

Prowl merely looks at him. “How badly would it terrify you to know that I never turn it on?”

There’s a full 30 seconds of silence while Ratchet processes that. “Excuse me?”

“When it was installed in the Academy, something went wrong. The thing crashes every time I boot it up – and when it does, it takes me with it. After two or three tries, I simply stopped attempting it.” Prowl shrugs. “I don’t see how that’s so hard to understand.”

“You’re telling me that everything you have done since joining Jazz’s team has been entirely without the aid of a battle computer.” Ratchet considers him for a moment. “Terrify doesn’t even _begin_ to describe what that does to me.”

“Hence why I don’t tell anyone.” Prowl points out. “So please don’t spread that around. In any case, it’s not a problem.”

“It is a little of one.” Mirage says quietly. “Up until now everyone has assumed that you use one. However, battle computers make a very distinctive sound, and it won’t take long for someone to realize you aren’t actually using one anymore. Rumors will spread. The ‘Cons will realize that in order to stop us, they’re going to have to actually kill you.”

Jazz’s grip tightens just a hair, but Prowl ignores that for the moment in favor of scoffing at Mirage. “Then I’ll just have to become sneakier, won’t I?” he retorts. “In either case, it takes a certain amount of memory to simply store the computer. Without it, I’ll be able to remove the extra programs safely and free up that space.”

Ratchet groans. “And you just became _more terrifying._ Thank you. I will sleep so soundly tonight.”

“Mechs sleep soundly because good mechs are willin’ ta do violence on their behalf.” Jazz says softly. “Those mechs sleep soundly because _terrifyin’ mechs_ are watchin’ their backs.”

Ratchet just glares at him. “I’ll be sure to add that to my pearls of wisdom collection.” he snips. “Prowl, rest. I mean it. You’re not leaving medbay until that audio has healed.” With that he turns and walks away. 

Mirage turns his attention to Jazz. “We have paperwork to file.” 

Jazz grins. “True that. Let’s go terrify Prime some more.”

“Anything I should be concerned about?” Prowl asks.

Jazz merely flashes him a wicked smirk. “Ah think we need ta make Blue’s dream of ops a reality.” Prowl considers this for a moment, then smirks right back.

“Then go get us a sniper.”

“O’ course.” Jazz starts to let go of Prowl’s hand, then pauses. “Prowler – don’ make meh watch ya die again. Ah don’ think Ah could survive that.”

Before Prowl can respond, he and Mirage are gone.

/-------/

It doesn’t take long for Prowl to recover. Only two days. During those two days, the team visits him frequently, only being driven out by Ratchet when they overstayed their welcome. Jazz makes it a point to not be alone with Prowl when he’s there. He has no desire to face what almost happened, and at least the others will help keep the conversation away from his reaction. He doesn’t really want Prowl knowing how badly watching him fall affected him. 

Still, there’s only so long he can avoid his tac officer – and if he’s honest, he doesn’t try very hard. 

Especially not with the rumors.

Word spreads _fast_ in the Autobot army. It seems like by the time Prowl is released from medbay, the entirety of Iacon knows about his newly acquired _disability_. Most of the mechs are content to whisper about it behind Prowl’s back. Jazz can live with that. Let the ranks think what they want. Those closest to the team don’t mention it, and Jazz doesn’t expect them to. 

It’s Smokescreen that’s a problem. As Prowl settles down in the rec room for energon, surrounded by his team (which now officially includes Bluestreak and unofficially Blaster), Smokescreen makes a beeline straight for them.

Bluestreak sees it first and groans. “Oh, shit.” The unexpected swear catches the entire team off-guard. Blue sees the looks and calmly points in the direction of Smokey. “He’s on a warpath.”

Jazz looks up, and his entire expression hardens. “Lovely.”

Smokey ignores all of them as he comes to stand just in front of Prowl. Prowl merely looks up at the other Praxian, clearly unperturbed. “May I help you?”

“How arrogant can you be?” Smokey demands. “Most tac can’t even shoot a gun without that battle computer, and you’re going to endanger the lives of your team because you’re too proud to admit that you need the thing?”

For the first time, Jazz sees true anger flash across Prowl’s face. “Even if I had a week, I couldn’t begin to list to you all the ways you’re wrong.” he says softly. In a clear dismissal, he lifts his energon cube and takes a drink.

Smokescreen slaps it out of his hand.

Before anyone can even think to move, Jazz has launched himself across the table and knocked Smokescreen on his back. There’s a dagger at his throat, Jazz’s face inches from his.

The entire rec room holds its breath.

“Ya touch him again, and Ah’ll rip yer spark outta yer chassis.”

To his credit, Smokey doesn’t seem nearly as terrified by this as he should be. “You’re blind, Jazz.” he says softly. “Prowl’s good, but his arrogance is going to get your team – _good mechs_ – killed. For nothing. Is that really something you want on your conscience?” 

Jazz’s lips twist into a snarl. The rest of the team make no move to leave their table, but Mirage choses now to speak. “Let’s not do that in front of Blue.” he says casually. “Even if he _is_ asking for it.”

Prowl looks from Jazz to Mirage and back. Bluestreak can see understanding cross his faceplates, followed quickly by that same anger as before. Slowly, Prowl pushes himself to his feet. His balance is still off from the healing audio, but he makes his way around the table and kneels on the ground next to Jazz. The dagger is still at Smokey’s throat. He places his hand on Jazz’s shoulder. 

“Smokescreen, I would advise you to shut up right now.” he says softly. “Jazz. Look at me, Jazz.” Slowly, the visored mech turns his gaze away from Smokescreen. Prowl smiles at him. “I think you’re going to need to help me up.”

Jazz doesn’t exactly smile at that, but his expression relaxes and he puts the dagger away. He slowly stands up, bringing Prowl up with him. “Still off-balance?”

“Just a little.”

“All righ’, back ta th’ room it is.” Jazz walks off, Prowl following but still holding on to Jazz’s arm. They’re out of the rec room by the time Bee speaks.

“That was damned slick of him.”

Mirage laughs. “Yeah, like any of us could have gotten him to leave like that.”

Smokescreen stares at the group of them even as he clambers to his feet. “None of you care?” he demands. 

To everyone’s surprise, Bluestreak is the one to speak. “You really need to shut up and leave now, Smokey. It’s not your team, so it’s not your business.”

Finally, Smokescreen just walks away. The team goes back to enjoying each other’s company and telling Bluestreak tales of their ops. 

Mirage glances at the exit, where Prowl and Jazz have vanished, and he smiles.


	23. damn scary bastards

It’s Prowl’s idea to go on patrol with Jazz. 

Honestly, both of them need to get away from the base. Prowl is getting tired of the sympathetic stares and whispers (he’s still on medical leave, light duty only, and everyone _knows it_ ), and Jazz is one subtle insult away from legitimately killing Smokescreen. So they leave Blaster on comms duty, looking out for them, and they take off to patrol the areas around Iacon.

Iacon hasn’t been completely taken over by the Autobots, although it is headquarters. There are still plenty of civilians, and as Prowl and Jazz calmly walk the streets, the civilians crowd around them like they’re just regular mechs going for a stroll. It amuses Prowl, to be honest. 

It amuses Jazz, too. Prowl can practically see the tension melting from his partner’s frame as they get farther and farther away from the base, until they’re on the opposite side of Iacon, in the West District. Shops, bars, and theaters give way to museums, warehouses, and a twisting maze of alleys and side streets that can get even the best of mechs lost. 

Jazz enjoys watching the civilians. It reminds him of why he even bothered to sign up with the Autobots, back when war was only a passing rumor. It reminds him of what he wanted to protect, back then.

He glances at Prowl, catching sight of the thin scar across his left temple. Interesting how the war has given him something entirely different he wants to protect now.

Prowl catches the look. He also correctly guesses part of what’s going through Jazz’s processor. “It’s like a trophy.” he says, indicating the scar with a wave of his hand. Jazz snorts.

“Of what? Yer unfailing luck?”

“I’ll have you know luck had nothing to do with that.” Prowl huffs. At Jazz’s look, he almost laughs. “Okay, yes, that was a lot of luck. I also have stubborn teammates and a damn good medic on hand.” Prowl shrugs. “A trophy.”

Jazz can’t help but grin at that. “Yer jus’ lookin’ forward ta makin’ the Cons lubricate themselves when they realize ya still in th’ game.” he teases.

Prowl pretends to look affronted. “Of course.”

The friendly teasing continues for the next five minutes or so. Prowl watches as Jazz relaxes even further, the dangerous tension bleeding from his frame. He can’t help but smile at that. 

Maybe by the time they make it back to base, Smokescreen won’t be able to rile him up anymore.

Their comms crackle to life as Blaster hails them. _“I’ve got chatter of Cons in the area. Stay alert.”_

Jazz scowls. “Frellin’ perfect. Tha’s the last thing we need.”

Prowl frowns. “Why are Cons in Iacon? They never come into this sector. There’s nothing here for them.”

_“Frag if I know. If I had to hazard a guess, though, I’d say they know where you are.”_

For a moment, the tactician considers this. His systems have repaired themselves, and he’s only a week away from being back on full duty. Jazz already has a knife out, twirling it between his fingers as he keeps a sharp optic out on the crowd around them. Prowl flicks his doorwings, testing the sensors one last time. Everything is functioning perfectly.

_“Do I need to send Mirage? Or the Twins?”_

Jazz shakes his helm. “Nah, mech. We’ll let ya know if we need ‘em.” Blaster sends back an affirmative. Jazz glances over at Prowl. “Looks like we migh’ get ta have a little fun.”

Prowl’s responding smile is nothing short of vicious, and it sends shivers down Jazz’s spine. “Depending on who they sent, we might get to have a lot of fun.” he muses. “In this sector, they can’t drop anyone on us, at least.” Jazz snorts at that.

They don’t make it very far before they find their opponents. Jazz grins. “Only three? Mechs, yer slippin’.”

Two Praxians and a mini stand just down the alley. Prowl recognizes the Praxians. They’re the only two with the Decepticons – a black and white called Barricade and a dark purple mech called Deadshot. Barricade smirks. “I don’t really think so. After all, what good is your tac officer without his computer?”

Prowl merely sighs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an amateur. Unlike some other mechs I could name.” He glances at Barricade before dismissing him completely, turning his attention to the other Praxian. “Deadshot. I haven’t seen you since the Academy. How’ve you been?”

Barricade bristles. Deadshot just smirks. “Oh, can’t complain. Meeting new mechs, killing them – what’s not to love?”

Jazz can’t help but laugh. “Ah think Ah like yer sense of humor, mech.” he muses. Deadshot takes a mocking bow. Jazz smirks. “So, ya guys gonna just let us continue on our patrol, or are we gonna have a problem?”

Deadshot merely smirks right back. “Sorry. Looks like we’re going to cause you a problem, otherwise Megatron will cause us a problem. And we’d rather avoid that.”

Prowl hums in agreement. “I can see how you’d like to avoid that. Pity that we’ll cause an even bigger problem for you.”

Blaster’s voice comes again over their internal comms. _“Guys, looks like there are two Seekers in the area as well. Your friends aren’t playing fair today.”_

Barricade snarls and draws his gun. “It’s time to die!”

He opens fire, but he never hits anything. Prowl takes off to the right, Jazz to the left, and the two vanish into the alleys that honeycomb the area. Jazz automatically establishes comms with Prowl. 

::Gotta say, mech, this ain’ th’ party Ah was hopin’ fer.::

Even though he can’t hear it, Prowl’s laughter comes through loud and clear. ::No shit. Circle back around to the Brax Sector. Stick to the alleys – the Seekers can’t get a good shot in here.:: 

Jazz sends back affirmative. ::An’ th’ grounders?::

::They get what they deserve for ruining our walk.:: Prowl doesn’t even wait for the affirmative from Jazz, or the laughter that filters through their link. He takes shelter under a fire escape, listening intently as the Seekers fly overhead. 

Blaster’s voice filters through his comm. _“Prowl, stay where you are. They’re using thermal scans, and you’re hiding rather nicely from them.”_

Prowl frowns slightly, taking in that information. “The heat from the factories must be masking my own signature. How do you know they’re using thermal scans?”

He can almost hear Blaster’s smirk. _“I am not the best damn comms officer for nothing, you know.”_

Prowl considers his options. If he stays in one place, he’s going to die. Barricade will find him eventually, or maybe the mini, and he’ll be forced into a fight he doesn’t particularly want right now. However, the factories spot the area from here to the Brax Sector. He should be able to effectively out-maneuver the grounders and hide from the Seekers until he finds his way to Jazz.

Plan in mind, he takes off. ::Jazz, did Blaster tell you about the Seekers?::

::Yep. Ah’m jus’ gonna keep a low profile and wait them out.::

::Good. I’ll be coming in by way of the factories. Be prepared – I doubt the Seekers will find me, but the others might.::

::Ah got yer six, Prowler, don’ worry ‘bout that.::

Prowl smiles to himself. ::I have no doubt about it.:: He keeps the connection open even as he falls silent. 

There’s not too many civilians out here by the factories. Prowl doesn’t have to worry about anyone getting caught in the crossfire. However, this also means that if he’s found, there’s no crowd to lose himself in.

And he is, inevitably, found.

It’s Barricade and the mini that actually catch up with him. Barricade lunges, intent on Prowl’s doorwings, but he’s ready for it. He twists to the left, drawing his own swords as he evades the attack. The mini hangs back, looking for the opportunity to strike, as Barricade continues his attack with his dagger. Prowl can’t quite stop a smirk.

He can see what Barricade and the mini can’t.

Barricade snarls and steps inside Prowl’s reach. His blade nicks Prowl’s arm, and he grabs the Con by the elbow and twists, flinging the slightly larger mech over his shoulder. One swift move, and Prowl stabs him through the doorwing with his sword. Barricade screams.

The mini takes the opportunity and launches himself at Prowl’s exposed back. He never makes it. 

Like a visored demon, Jazz emerges from the shadows and snatches him from the air. It takes seconds for him to slam the mini into the wall, pull his dagger, and make three decisive strokes. The mini falls limp in his grip. 

Prowl stands up and turns to face them. Jazz drops the dead mech to the ground, grinning as he holds his prize in his hand. Prowl smiles. “Think you can deal with Smokescreen without killing him now?” he asks.

Jazz laughs. “Sure, mech.”

“You’re gonna just leave poor ‘Cade there?” Deadshot materializes from a different alley, smirking at the moaning mech on the ground. “Gotta say, Prowl – that’s cold. Even for you.”

Prowl merely arches an optic ridge. “And that’s why we got along so well at the Academy.” he says pointedly. “Have a good time explaining this to Megs, Deadshot.” 

With that, Prowl and Jazz vanish into the alleys, leaving Deadshot to deal with the injured Barricade. Deadshot just smiles to himself as he watches them leave.

/------/

Gunner meets them in the rec room. He grins at the smiles on his mechs’ faces. “Feeling better, Jazz?” he teases.

“Immensely.” Jazz says happily. “Ah feel like Ahm a new mech.”

Sitting at his table, Smokescreen frowns. “Did you run into trouble out there?”

“Something like it.” Prowl muses. He smirks. “Nothing for you to worry about. It will all be in our report to Gunner. You can take a look then, if you like.”

It’s not like Prowl to bait someone. Gunner watches, curious. Jazz’s gaze flickers between the two Praxians, curious but completely at ease. Smokescreen merely glares at Prowl, wings stiff, but otherwise unwilling to engage. Instead, he merely returns his attention to his energon.

Prowl laughs. “Pity. I was looking forward to that fight.”

Jazz snickers. “Only ya, mech.” he says affectionately. “Oh, Smokey – catch!” He tosses his prize to Smokey, who snatches it from the air on reflex – only to drop it with an undignified screech a second later.

“JAZZ!”

Gunner can’t help it. He’s laughing just as hard as Ironhide is as his two best mechs leave the rec room.

“Gotta tell you, Gunner,” Ironhide admits, “I like having them around. Never a dull moment.”

“You’re telling me.” Gunner chuckles. “I gotta remind Jazz to stop bringing home body parts. They freak everyone out.”

Ironhide just grins. “Ah, let him. Smokey needs the shock every now and again.” He walks over to the table and picks up the item. “Oh, chill out, Smokey – it’s just some armor! Ain’t like he brought home the spark chamber or something!”

Gunner snorts. “Only a matter of time.” he mutters to himself. “Only a matter of time.”


	24. blessed are the peacemakers

Bumblebee is having flashbacks to Tyger Pax.

Admittedly, this is an infiltration, not an air bombing, but the similarities are enough to send chills down his spinal strut. He’s even trapped in the rec room again, albeit with Mirage to one side of him and Cliffjumper to the other. There’s a ‘Con standing in front of him with a gun pointed at his head. There are at least six others in the room. Those are only the ones in the room, that Bee can see.

That’s not counting the ones who are searching the base and gathering up the others. They’re keeping the other Autobots in various rooms, and that kind of concerns Bee. The ‘Cons are looking for someone, and they’re taking great care to keep from getting enough Autobots in one area to cause a problem. Which means they’re anticipating the mechs they’re looking for to cause enough of a problem already.

At least Optimus isn’t on the base – which is actually why this little _raid_ is taking place, he realizes. Not only is Optimus not on base, but neither is Ironhide or about a third of base personnel for various political reasons, and Gunner’s presence in Iacon isn’t a well-known fact. Not to mention that Iacon is predominantly a civilian instillation. 

The leader of the Autobots and his SIC are not on base, and as far as the ‘Cons know, the TIC isn’t here either. Bee has to hide a little smile at that.

Damn, Soundwave is stupid.

The ‘Con in front of him tilts his helm, listening in on his comm. “What do you mean, you can’t find them?” he demands. “We’ve only got two here, there’s at least two more! Find them, damn it!”

Mirage pings Bee’s private comm. ::Think they’re after us?:: With Soundwave probably in the area, comms are a bad idea, but Mirage is willing to risk it. If they’re careful, they won’t give away anything useful.

::No doubt.:: Bee replies dryly. ::At least we’ve got one on the outside.:: Hound was on patrol, and Blaster took comms so Mirage could get some well-earned recharge. The ‘Con with his gun on Bee doesn’t seem to be aware of the conversation. Bee glances to the side at Cliffjumper, who’s scowling at the ‘Con. ::Jumper could be a problem.::

::When is Jumper not a problem?:: Mirage mutters. ::Do we know where our fearless leaders are?::

::Nope, and quite frankly, I’m glad. We’ll find them when the ‘Cons do no doubt.::

Bee has to nod at that. There’s a crash from somewhere outside the rec room, and three of the ‘Cons rush off to investigate. He glances at Mirage. “Now?”

Mirage glances around and grins. “Yeah, this is good.” With that, he blinks out of sights.

Cliffjumper swears. “What the hell?”

The ‘Con in front of Bee drops to the ground, energon spraying from his throat. Bee quickly lunges forward and grabs the gun from the corpse before standing up and opening fire on the second mech. He drops him quickly. The third one falls a few seconds later, dagger shoved into his spark chamber. 

And Mirage blinks back into existence. He grins at Bee. “Have I mentioned I love that trick?”

“Once or twice.” Bee laughs. Jumper just stares at them from his position on the ground, mouth open. Bee grins at him. “What? Did you think we call him Mirage for nothing?” 

The door slides open, and Hound walks in, gun drawn. He does a quick head count and breathes a sigh of relief. “Remind anyone of Tyger Pax?” he asks dryly. Bee and Mirage quickly cross to his side.

Mirage merely smiles. “We weren’t there.” 

“He was.” Hound points out. “So was Prowl. You remember how bad that was?”

“He’s right.” Bee says. “We should go find the others before the ‘Cons do.” He turns his attention to Jumper. “Where are the other minis?”

Jumper blinks. “Scattered around. I can gather them up.”

“Good. Do it, and cause chaos. There’s more than just these assholes here.”

For a moment, the two just stare at each other. Mirage thinks that Jumper might just say no. He might just flat out refuse to do anything that might help the ops team. Instead, Jumper simply nods.

“You got it.”

The four of them leave the rec room and split up.

/-------/

Prowl has to admit – once again, he really should have anticipated this. 

The tac room has been barricaded off. He crouches on one side of the barricade (which is actually just the desk, but thankfully it’s a _sturdy_ desk), gun held tightly in his hand. Like before, he was alone when the call from Blaster hit his comms. Like before, he doesn’t know where his team is, and it’s driving him insane. 

This time, comms aren’t down because of an aerial bombing. Prowl knows Soundwave is in the base. The Decepticon TIC is the only one downright _stupid_ enough to launch this kind of attack, and that means he’s probably scanning the comms frequency looking for them. 

At this time of the day, Prowl knows Bee is in the rec room (and that _really_ doesn’t make him feel any better). Mirage is probably awake by now and with him. Hound has probably made his way back into the base and is with Mirage and Bee. 

That still leaves Blue and Jazz, and Prowl simply doesn’t know. Blue was with the Twins. Jazz was down in the training room. 

He decides to take a risk. He needs to make sure his team is okay, but he doesn’t have to know where they are. So he fires up his comm link. ::Sound off!::

::Mirage, Bee, and Hound.::

::Blue here!::

::Jazz here, Prowler.::

Mechs are shooting at him still, but Prowl heaves a sigh of relief. The most Soundwave might have gotten from that is that his team is alive. Not their locations. “Thank Primus.” he murmurs. A shot hits the wall right over his head. He raises his gun up and opens fire.

 _This_ is why Prowl doesn’t use a gun. He can’t aim worth a _shit_. 

“Prowler, down!”

Prowl doesn’t think. He ducks down, pressing his back against the barricade and curling up into the tightest ball possible, arms covering his head. The explosion on the other side of the barricade is absolutely not surprising. He waits until the shockwave passes before slowly coming out of his crouch and poking his head over the barricade.

Jazz and Gunner stand there, Gunner examining the carnage of five or six exploded mechs, and Jazz watching Prowl. He grins at the Praxian. “Figured ya’d be here.”

Prowl laughs at that and straightens up, stepping over the barricade and joining the two in the hallway. “What did you do – follow the sound of really bad shots?”

Gunner chuckles. “Something like that. It’d be a piss-poor leader that can’t find his TO.” He motions for them to follow. “Let’s go make sure Soundwave regrets this little endeavor of his, hm?”

Prowl and Jazz exchange grins. “O’ course, mech.”

/-------/

Soundwave surveys the rec room. There are no Autobots there. There are, however, three dead Decepticons, both shot and cut. Behind his face mask, he scowls.

This is not good.

::Decepticons: Report.::

Silence. 

::Decepticons: Report.::

Still silence. His scowl becomes more pronounced. He’s about to call out again, but a soldier bursts into the rec room, breathing hard and covered in energon. All of it appears to be his. “Boss, we have a problem.” the mech stammers. “We didn’t realize –“

He’s abruptly shoved into the room, and Gunner stands behind him, an easy smile on his faceplates. “Soundwave. You are such a moron. Nice to know your information network is just as inept as always.”

“Gunner.” This is not someone he wants to tangle with. “Query: Are all of them dead?”

The Autobot TIC merely shrugs. “If they’re not, they will be soon. My team doesn’t appreciate having their home broken into. They tend to take it personally.” He takes a step forward. “I’m giving you one chance, and one chance only. You showed me mercy in the past, once. This time, I’m paying the debt.”

Soundwave isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what Gunner is referring to. “I am allowed to leave. My men will die here.”

“Exactly. Just like the deal you gave me.”

For a long moment, Soundwave and Gunner just stare at each other. After that moment, Soundwave smiles. Even though he can’t see it, Gunner can tell. “Still my friend.”

That earns him a wry smirk. “Just this time.” It’s an acknowledgement and a warning. “Leave, Soundwave. My mechs will make sure that you are not harmed.”

Soundwave has never been accused of being stupid. This was a foolish endeavor, one he never would have attempted if his intelligence had informed him of Gunner’s presence. With a small nod to Gunner, he leaves the base.

There are bodies strewn everywhere. Soundwave merely steps over them and leaves the base.

This is going to be hard to explain to Megatron.

/-------/

Optimus and Ironhide return that night after Gunner’s report. Gunner is waiting for them outside the base, flanked by Jazz and Prowl. Prime sighs. “How did they get in?”

“How do any of us get in?” Prowl asks blandly. “They used the front door.”

“This is no time to be snide.” Ironhide snaps. Prowl glares at him.

“I wish I was, but I’m not. They literally waltzed in through the front door, because we have shit security.” From beside him, Jazz snorts, trying to hide his laughter. Prowl continues like he can’t hear him. “How about this – instead of having a repeat of Tyger Pax, we find someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doing to come in and make sure we all don’t die in horrifying ways?”

Optimus exchanges looks with Gunner and Ironhide. Ironhide looks like he’s ready to strangle Prowl. Gunner just looks vastly amused.

From the entrance, where the minis are stacking up the body parts for disposal, Cliffjumper speaks. “Um, Prime? This is gonna shock the hell out of you, but I’m kinda with Prowl on this one. As much fun as this was, I’d rather not do it again.”

Jazz flashes him a wicked grin. “Yer learnin’.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re still a pain in my ass.”

“’m okay wit’ that.”

Optimus just sighs. Oh, hell. “Fine. I’ll call in Red Alert.”


	25. new old faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! My nephew made me sit down and watch Into the Spiderverse, and now guess what I'm writing for? But I am not giving up, we're over halfway there!

When Red Alert arrives in Iacon, he’s not expecting to be greeted by Prowl and Optimus Prime.

Optimus, yes. He is, after all, to be the security officer for the base. Once Red Alert got word that Iacon was housing an ops team, he’s expected the call. He just wasn’t expecting that team to be _Prowl’s._

Honestly, he never anticipated seeing the mech again. And considering some of the shit they caused in the Academy, that would have been in the best interest of the Autobot cause. Between Red Alert’s paranoia and Prowl’s cunning, the two of them had gotten away with far more than they really should have. 

He lets Optimus guide him around the base, taking mental note of all the various weaknesses in security. For a moment, he wonders how two highly suspicious and paranoid mechs like Prowl and Jazz have managed to stay in such a low-security place for so long. He puts the thought aside and keeps going.

Eventually, Optimus cuts him loose to get settled in, leaving him and Prowl alone. For a moment, the two simply stare at each other. Suddenly, Prowl smiles.

“Good to see you again, Red.”

Red Alert can’t help but crack a grin. “Good for us. Bad for them.” he quips. Prowl chuckles at that. Red Alert continues. “So – does your team leader know that we know each other?”

“Of course he does.” Prowl never loses that smile. “I don’t keep secrets from him.”

“So, you’ve told him.”

“He figured it out the same way Mirage figured out about my battle computer. They’re ops. I don’t have to spell these things out for them.”

“Speaking of.” Red Alert motions to the scar on the side of Prowl’s helm. “What happened?”

“Knife to the helm. Took it out.”

Red Alert blinks. “And you survived that?” he demands. “You are damned lucky.”

Prowl’s smile morphs into a smirk. “I think the fact that it wasn’t fully connected anymore had a lot to do with it. Bare basics, remember? To give it the impression of being connected?” Red Alert snorts at that. Prowl continues. “I don’t believe any of our modifications ever made it into my medical files.”

“Of course not. First Aid owed me a few favors.” Red snaps. “You know if they make you install a new one, I don’t think that _trick_ of yours is going to work again.”

“Probably not.” Prowl admits. “They’ve come a long way since the Academy. I could give it a try, but I’d probably wind up glitching more than just the computer.” Red Alert nods. Prowl merely inclines his helm. “I can show you to your quarters.”

“Show me yours first.” Red Alert sighs. “Seriously, how you and Jazz tolerate this place –“

“The fact that Iacon is primarily civilian does afford us some level of protection.” Prowl replies mildly. “But you’re right. We really should have anticipated this, especially after Tyger Pax.” He sighs. “We don’t actually have team quarters yet. Perhaps you can help us out with that.”

“How are you split up?”

“Me, Jazz, and Blaster are sharing, Blue is with the Twins, Mirage and Hound are together, and Bee is with Jumper.”

Red Alert does the calculations. “Blue is a new member. We’ll have to accommodate for him. He’s getting his adult upgrades tomorrow, right?” A nod. “Okay, that’ll make things a little easier. Are you anticipating the Twins or Blaster joining the team?”

“Blaster, yes, the Twins, no.” Prowl says dryly. “I imagine Blue will be spending more time with the Twins than he does with us during off-hours.”

“Okay. That makes the job a little simpler. I’ll find a security set-up for seven regardless.” They stop just outside of the general quarters. “Prowl – what are you going to do if they make you take a new computer?”

Prowl flicks his doorwings in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t imagine they will. Prime knows I’ve done all my planning so far without one. Gunner is happy with my work, and so is Jazz. That’s really all that matters, and barring anything drastic, I don’t see Prime willing to disrupt a working setup.”

“You’re going to paint an even bigger target on your back than there already is.”

“Perhaps. But I can handle that. I won’t get my team killed.”

“You won’t get _Jazz_ killed.” Red Alert says pointedly. Prowl merely shrugs. Red sighs. “Fine, whatever. I’ll see you around then.” With that he heads off to find his new quarters.

Prowl waits until he’s out of audio range before speaking. “How long were you planning on following me?” 

Jazz comes to stand by his side and chuckles. “Yeah, well, ya knew Ah was listenin’.” He nudges him with his shoulder. “Confirmed a suspicion of mine, though. Couldn’ figure out how a battle computer glitches as badly as yours did, and not get fixed, unless you did it on purpose.”

Prowl smiles. “Like I said, I don’t really have to spell anything out for you, do I?”

“Nah, mech. Not anythin’.” He loops his arm around Prowl’s and guides him towards the rec room. “Let’s get some energon, yeah?” Prowl smiles and lets him take the lead.

/-------/

Over the next few days, Red Alert begins installing his new security measures. He’s only mildly surprised to have Jazz watch him as he does it. He doesn’t talk. He just watches and helps when Red Alert asks him to. It’s actually quite unnerving to have that laser focus directed at him.

On the second day of this, Red Alert breaks the silence. “I’m guessing you know by now that Prowl is my friend.”

“Yep.” Jazz hands him a laser drill and takes a step back out of the way. Red Alert crouches on the ground and begins installing the hardware for an electronic trip wire. It’s a passive system that can read spark signatures, so it’s installed at the main entrance. This will be the first line of defense for the base. Any spark that’s registered as unfriendly or hidden by a spark dampener will set off the next line of defense. Jazz watches him work. “An’ Ah know th’ two of ya screwed wit Prowl’s computer back in the Academy.”

Red Alert grimaces. “So you were listening. I was wondering about that.” He glances up at the visored mech. “Prowl asked me to. I generally don’t make it a habit to screw around with processors.”

“Ah know he did.” Jazz says mildly. “Prowler has a hell of a lot of loyalty, even back when he had no team ta be loyal to. Ah appreciate that.”

“And?”

“An’ if there’s somethin’ that he did because of that loyalty tha’ might get him hurt now, Ah need ta know about it. He protects mah team. It’s mah job ta protect him.”

Red Alert snorts at that. “Let’s face it, Jazz – you aren’t protecting Prowl because it’s your _duty_. You can at least admit to that much.”

Jazz nods. “Maybe. But ya ever think that some things are better left unspoken? Ya know, giant targets an’ all that.”

Understanding flashes across Red Alert’s face. He decides to answer the first question instead of pressing the matter. “It’s only a problem if they make Prowl install a new one. Those kinds of computers require pretty extensive programming that I don’t know a lot about, but there’s a reason everyone in tac uses them. Prowl would be the first.”

For a long moment, Jazz just stands there considering as Red Alert finishes installing the hardware. He pulls out a connector from his forearm and plugs it into the hardware before initiating the download for the software. Finally, the visored mech smiles.

“Point taken.” With that he turns and walks away.

Red Alert just shrugs and returns to his work. “Strange mechs.”


	26. bad moon rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second arc of the story! Thanks for hanging in there with me, and I love all of the comments and kudos that have been coming this story's way. You guys are the best!

Jazz has to admit – he’s grateful to be running ops again. His team is _good,_ and to waste that good by having them sit around just grates at him. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have been sitting around for so long if he had accepted a temporary TO while Prowl was on medical leave, but that’s entirely beside the point.

This time it’s infiltration – and for once, Prowl isn’t in the field with them. The base at Kaon is one of Megatron’s most guarded, and to have the entire team inside would be suicide. So this time it’s just Jazz, Mirage, and Bee, with Bluestreak on the outskirts of the city for cover and Prowl and Hound at the checkpoint six kilometers away. Close enough to come save all their asses, not close enough to get caught with the rest.

Jazz plants the last of his bombs and pings his teammates over their private, encrypted comm links. ::Ah’m good ta go.:: he says. ::How about ya?::

::We’re almost done.:: Mirage replies. ::Bee just needs a few more minutes.::

::You two might want to hurry up.:: Prowl says in amusement. ::They’re not going to stay distracted by Blue’s diversion for long.::

Jazz can hear Blue’s delighted laughter across their link. ::Nope, but for now I have them chasing their tails!::

Jazz almost says something about that – Blue’s _diversion_ is almost a sparkling game. He’s been launching metal projectiles at the walls of the base, making the guards chase the sounds. It’s the kind of prank that Jazz used to pull all the time at the Academy, and it almost makes him laugh to know that their youngling knows the same trick. 

Then he senses something behind him, and he twists around, daggers falling into his hands.

Deadshot stands there and grins at him. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Jazz hesitates. His instincts scream at him to _take care of this _, but, well – Deadshot is Prowl’s friend. Prowl seemed content to let him walk away, and Jazz has always been content to follow Prowl’s lead. Still – “What ya doin’ here?”__

__“Looking for you, actually.” Deadshot glances at the bomb, but otherwise doesn’t seem perturbed. “I have some information for you and Prowl. Probably Optimus Prime, too. Figured if I hung around here long enough, you guys would make a go at the base.”_ _

__That’s really not the answer Jazz is expecting. He pings Prowl’s comm again. ::Prowler?::_ _

__::If he says he has information, he does.:: Prowl says, but his voice lacks the ease of before. ::Deadshot’s sneaky, but he’s never lied outright to me.::_ _

__Jazz really could point out that he would actually be lying to Jazz, but he understands the same as Prowl and probably Deadshot. Lying to Jazz _is_ lying to Prowl. Jazz merely inclines his helm. “Ah don’ need ta tell ya what Ah’m gonna do ta ya if ya screw us over.”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Good.” Jazz sends out a signal to his bombs. ::Change o’ plans. Ya’ll got two minutes ta finish up an’ get out.::_ _

__::You got it, boss.:: Mirage replies. Jazz turns his attention back to Deadshot._ _

__“Follow me, an’ stick close.” ::Guys, Ah’m bringin’ in a tag-a-long. Don’ shoot him.::_ _

__He doesn’t even wait for the affirmative as his team slowly makes their way out of the base and back to the checkout. Bluestreak meets them there, helm tilted to the side in curiosity. “I’m guessing he’s not a prisoner?”_ _

__“Not for the moment.” Prowl appears behind the group and places his hand on Blue’s shoulder. “I’m assuming you’re not here to defect, Deadshot?”_ _

__The other Praxian grins. “That depends on how things go. You might want to register me as a prisoner of war. Maybe I’ll make a miraculous escape later, if I don’t just defect.”_ _

__For a moment, no one speaks. As one, the team looks at Prowl. Prowl considers Deadshot for a moment before turning his attention to Jazz. “Not a bad idea, all things considered.” he says quietly._ _

__Jazz pings his private comm. ::Prowler?::_ _

__::He’s not lying about having information, but I only trust him so far.:: Prowl explains quietly. ::If we need to, he won’t be making any _miraculous escape_.::_ _

__Jazz just manages to not smirk at that. ::Ah like that plan, Prowler.:: “Come on, Deadshot. We gonna git all of us back ta base, we gotta go now.”_ _

__They leave the area just as the first of the bombs start to detonate._ _

__/-------/_ _

__Back at Iacon, Optimus Prime waits for them just outside the base. Ironhide stands to his left. Gunner is there as well, just by the entrance and to Prime’s right, somewhat out of sight. Deadshot arches an optic ridge. “It’s almost like you don’t trust me, Prowl.” he murmurs._ _

__Prowl ignores that. He stands to one side of Deadshot, Mirage to the other, both with weapons drawn but not held on the Decepticon between them. Optimus gives them a look before turning his attention to Jazz. “Why did you bring him here?”_ _

__Jazz shrugs. “He said he had information fer us.” he says bluntly. “Figured we should hear him out.”_ _

__Optimus nods and turns his attention to Deadshot. “What information do you have?”_ _

__“I think this is a conversation best had indoors, Prime.” Deadshot says darkly. “I don’t want to be overheard.”_ _

__“I don’t think so.” Ironhide scowls. “You tell us at least the gist of it, and then we’ll decide if we’re gonna hear you out or throw you in the brig. Or we’ll just toss you there now. Choice is yours, ‘Con.”_ _

__Deadshot slides Prowl a look. Prowl sighs. “I would like to point out that Deadshot isn’t exactly an enemy here, Ironhide.” he says quietly._ _

__Optimus nods. “I’m aware of some of your shared history.” he replies. “But right now, he is a Decepticon, and we need to treat him as such.”_ _

__Jazz shrugs. “Whatever ya say, Prime. But Ah trust Prowler on this one.”_ _

__“Of course you do.” Gunner says dryly._ _

__Finally, Deadshot sighs. “Fine, whatever.” He vents hard, hands clenching into fists._ _

__“Shockwave’s back in Iacon. And he’s after Prowl.”_ _


	27. don't shoot the messenger

It’s an odd group gathered into the conference room. Optimus, Ironhide, Gunner, Prowl, Jazz, and Red Alert, along with one lone Decepticon. It’s almost enough to make Deadshot nervous, but he hides it well. He simply faces Optimus and Ironhide, Gunner to his left, Red Alert to his right, and Prowl and Jazz somewhere behind him. He’s surrounded, and he knows it.

Optimus starts things off. “What do you mean, Shockwave is after Prowl?” There’s an edge to his voice Deadshot isn’t expecting from what he knows about the easygoing Autobot leader. He really wants to glance behind him at Prowl, but instinct has him keeping his optics on Optimus.

“Just what I said. Prowl’s on his radar. They’ve reformatted one of the old bases around Iacon to suit his needs, and now he’s started the hunt.”

“Why?” Ironhide asks. “I mean, I know Shockwave is some kind of scientist, but what does a scientist need a tac officer for?”

Deadshot hesitates. “You don’t know? I figured your intel would have heard the rumors at least.”

“I have.” Gunner says quietly. “Shockwave leaves a trail of broken mechs wherever he goes. Apparently, he has a thing for experimentation. He likes to take mechs apart to see what makes them tick.” At Ironhide’s look, he shrugs. “What? For a while he was into twins. When Sunstreaker and Sideswipe came to us, Ratchet had me look into anything that might be a threat.”

“And Shockwave made that list?” Prowl asks, speaking up for the first time. Gunner nods.

“Yeah. But he lost interest not too long after. I kept tabs on him, but he’s never been considered a serious threat. Megatron keeps him at arm’s length.”

“For glaringly obvious reasons.” Deadshot adds. “Even Megatron is freaked out by this mech. Shockwave is bat-shit crazy.” 

Prowl nods and falls silent. Optimus picks it up again. “Why Prowl?”

Deadshot taps the side of his helm. “No battle computer.”

Prowl makes a scoffing sound. “Oh, is that all.” he mutters. Jazz casts him a look, but Prowl doesn’t seem to be concerned. In fact, there’s nothing about his body language that suggests he’s phased at all by this news. Jazz inclines his helm in question, and Prowl just flicks his wings in a dismissive gesture. 

Deadshot doesn’t miss the exchange, but he chooses not to comment. “I don’t think you realize just how unique that makes you, Prowl.” he says quietly. “Once word got around that you never reinstalled your computer, Shockwave made the connection that you probably never used it to begin with. No tac officer does that.”

Prowl inclines his helm. “No tac officer bothers to try.” he says flatly. “I don’t do anything that any other mech isn’t capable of doing.”

“That’s what you think.” Red Alert comments dryly.

Now that has Gunner’s attention. “What made you want to try?”

Prowl merely smiles. “I never intended to be tac.”

“We’re getting off the subject.” Optimus cuts across the conversation. Jazz’s gaze flickers from Prowl to Prime, and understanding flashes across his face. Still, he keeps his observations to himself. “What is Shockwave planning to do with Prowl if he gets him?”

“Take him apart.” Deadshot says bluntly. “Like Gunner said, Shockwave has a thing for dissection. Usually while the mech is still alive. There’s also processor jacking and other various things he can do to get the information he wants.”

“In other words, there won’t be much left.” Ironhide says.

“Precisely.”

There’s a brief moment of tense silence. It’s broken by Red Alert’s snort of laughter. Ironhide glares at him. “What’s so funny?” 

“You’re pissing Prowl off, and I think it’s funny.” Red says with a small grin. “Tell me, Prowl – how many plans do you already have to take down Shockwave?” 

“Six.” Prowl says dryly. “Give me some more information, and I’ll make it 12.”

Optimus sighs. “Fine. Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert – go. Get the information you need to take Shockwave out.” The three nod and leave the conference room. Optimus turns his focus to Deadshot. “You are going to tell us everything you know about Shockwave’s experiments, and how you know it.” 

“Before that, I want to know why we should trust you.” Gunner says.

Deadshot shrugs. “That’s the easiest answer to give you. Prowl’s my friend. We wound up on opposite sides, but that doesn’t change that he’s my friend. I don’t want him to die unless I’m the one who kills him.”

“You’ll make it clean.” Optimus says quietly.

“Exactly.” Deadshot squares his shoulders. “Now, as for the rest . . . . “

/---------/

The tac room is abandoned except for Jazz and Prowl. Red Alert went to his own office to see what his information network could shake out. Jazz doesn’t let the silence stand for long. “Yer not afraid of Shockwave.”

Prowl shakes his helm. “No.”

“Why not? Ya heard what he c’n do ta ya.” 

That earns Jazz a small smirk. “Yes, but that would require him to catch me, and we both know that’s not happening.” he says.

Jazz gaze lingers on the scar on Prowl’s helm. “An’ yet, despite everythin’, ya still got caught once before.”

For a moment, Prowl just stares at him. Finally, he sighs. “Yes, and it would have been a clean kill. Jazz, you know enough of my past to understand me when I say this – there is nothing Shockwave can do to me that I haven’t faced before. So no, I’m not afraid of Shockwave. He’s an abuser and a bully, and he will die.”

The certainty in Prowl’s tone, coupled with all the implications, sends a shiver down Jazz’s spine. He decides to change the subject. “Ya didn’ wanna be tac?”

It’s glaringly obvious, but Prowl smiles and rolls with it. “Nope. That’s where Prime wanted me.”

“Ya originally signed up fer ops, didn’ ya?” Jazz can’t help the slow grin that spreads across his face. “Ya were gonna be an ops leader, like meh. An’ ops leaders need ta be able ta plan on their feet.”

“And then I got to the Academy, and realized Prime had changed my placement.” Prowl says. He flashes Jazz a grin. “But I think things worked out for the best.”

“At least now Ah know why ya refuse ta stay outta th’ field.” Jazz teases. “C’mon, mech – let’s get some energon and see what th’ team is up ta.”

Prowl allows him to hook their arms together. “Of course.”


	28. murphy's law, pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not forgotten about this story, I promise! Spiderverse and real life just decided to kick my ass together.

Locating the lab was easy. Too easy, in Prowl and Red Alert’s opinion. It’s far enough outside of Iacon to not attract attention, but close enough that it would have eventually gotten their notice even without Deadshot’s warning.

Prowl stays at the checkpoint, a fortified area about 10 clicks south of the lab, and Bluestreak finds a spot about 200 meters higher than him. He’s in the perfect position to guard both the checkpoint and the entrance to Shockwave’s lab. Prowl opens up his padd and brings up the blueprints – or what they’ve been able to find, anyway. 

::I would like to go on record saying this is a phenomenally bad idea. Again.:: he says dryly.

::Noted. Agin.:: Jazz teases back.

::I could give Prowl my gun if it makes him feel better.:: Bluestreak chimes in. ::With this scope, even he can’t miss.::

::All right, guys, ease up.:: Prowl can’t help but laugh with his team. ::We all know that even with Blue’s scope, I still couldn’t hit the broad side of Megatron.::

::Which is why you’ll eventually just shank him.:: Bee teases back.

::All righ’ guys, settle down.:: Jazz’s voice cuts across the banter, unusually serious. ::We’re about ta breach. Me an’ Bee from th’ front, Mirage an’ Hound from th’ rear.::

::Copy.:: Prowl says. He can see the spark signatures on his padd, marking the areas where his team have been positioned. ::Start the live feed.:: Jazz activates the recorder built into his visor, and the feed pops up in the corner of the padd. ::Looks good. No interference so far.::

::Let’s see how long it lasts.:: Jazz says, grin evident in his voice. ::Breachin’ now.::

There is absolutely no warning. The door slides open just enough for Jazz and Bee to sneak in and shuts behind them. Prowl barely has time to catch a glimpse of the large auditorium-like room, and then the feed goes dark. Prowl curses.

::Jazz, I lost the feed. Walk me through it.:: Silence. ::Jazz, the feed is down. Report.::

There’s nothing, no response, and their spark signatures have vanished from Prowl’s padd. Alarm races through him, cold and sharp. ::Team, sound off!::

Nothing from any of them.

Blue pings his comm. ::What are your orders?::

Prowl’s already checking his weapons and plotting the fastest path from the checkpoint to the base. ::Contact Blaster if you can. We’re gonna need medical on standby. Otherwise, make sure no one shoots me between here and there.::

He doesn’t give Blue a chance to reply. He just takes off. When he makes it to the door, he hesitates. Jazz must have set off some sort of trap. He’ll do the team no good if he gets caught in the same trap. Slowly, he pushes the door open and takes a step back. Nothing happens. Venting hard, he pings Blue one more time. ::You’re probably going to lose contact with me. If I’m not out in 30 minutes, leave us here and get Gunner. Got it?::

::Please. You’ll be out of there in 20.::

Prowl grins. ::I like that thought. Here goes.:: He slides inside and lets the door close behind him.

The effect is immediate and disorienting. There’s some sort of dampener, and it’s damned strong. Prowl can barely feel his own spark pulse, and the extra vibrations have rendered his doorwings useless. He can’t tell the difference between the dampener and any other source of data. He can’t even sense air currents like he usually can. He scowls.

This is going to _suck_.

He draws his short swords and keeps his back to the wall, making a slow circle around the room. It’s not an auditorium like he first thought – but clearly Shockwave puts on shows here. On the far side of the room cages line the walls, and Prowl can easily see Mirage, Hound, and Bee in some of those cages. Mirage and Hound look out of it – the dampener must be interfering with their bond. Bee has been placed in between them, and Prowl can see him talking quietly to them, probably keeping them level. White-hot fury flares in him, but it’s what’s in the center of the room that really has his energon boiling.

There’s a medical berth, and Jazz is laying on it. Shockwave stands beside him, one hand on his shoulder, single optic glowing in the dim light. Jazz’s visor is dark. The dampener must have shorted it out. There must be something else going on as well. There are no restraints immediately apparent, but Jazz is not even attempting to escape. 

Something is very, very wrong.

“Tell me where Prowl is.” Jazz doesn’t respond. Shockwave seems to smile. “You will. Either you will tell me, or I’ll dig it out of you. Your choice.”

Prowl scowls. Shockwave must have jacked into Jazz, and only far enough to keep him immobilized. Prowl has heard horror stories about Jazz’s firewalls. If Prowl can kill the dampener, they can all get out. Doing so will also reveal his presence, which Shockwave hasn’t seemed to notice yet. 

Yep. This is going to _suck._

With Shockwave distracted, Prowl moves.

/-------/

Jazz is unaware of Prowl’s current location, but he knows the Praxian won’t stay away for long. If he’s smart, he’ll be on his way back to the base to get help. That means a day or two of torture for Jazz, but that’s nothing he hasn’t endured before. He’s more concerned about how Mirage and Hound will hold up under the dampener. Trapped as he is, he knows it has to be worse for them.

Can they even still sense each other? 

“If you won’t tell me, maybe I can pry it out of one of your teammates. Bumblebee, perhaps?”

Before Jazz can come up with a scathing retort, the dampener shuts off, along with the power. There’s about two seconds of the kind of absolute silence that comes with a power outage.

Then there’s an explosion.

Shockwave disconnects from Jazz, turning slightly to see what’s going on, and Jazz immediately stabs him in the chassis and rolls away. He reaches out on the comm links. ::Prowl, mah visor’s shot. Ya gotta guide meh – where am Ah goin’?::

::I have you.:: It’s Blue’s voice that answers him, and that makes him very, very nervous. ::90 degree turn to the right, 10 steps forward. That will put you in front of Mirage.::

Jazz follows Blue’s direction, and the sniper walks him through unlocking all three cages. He grabs Bee by the arm. ::Git them outta here. Ah gotta git Prowler.::

::Think you’ll be able to find him?::

::Ah don’ know, but Ah gotta try.:: There’s a growing heat source to his left. The lab is on fire and burning quickly. He has no clue where Shockwave is, but he can imagine the Decepticon is hunting Prowl as well. ::Go, Bee!::

::Don’t worry about me.:: Prowl’s voice cuts across his rising panic. ::Get out of here. I’ll be right behind you.::

::Where are ya?::

He can almost sense Prowl’s smirk. ::Working. Give me about five minutes to lose him and I’ll be out. Bee, get moving.::

::Copy.:: Bee gently pushes Jazz forward, and he reluctantly guides the team out of the base, Blue’s voice in his ear the entire time.

They make it to the checkpoint, and Jazz immediately rounds on Blue. “Where’s Prowler?” Blue doesn’t immediately answer, and Jazz takes a step forward. “Blue, Ah’m gonna ask ya one more time – _where is Prowl?”_

“In there.” Blue says quietly. “Pretty sure he’s the reason the lab is on fire.”

Jazz freezes. “Stay here. Ah’m gonna go git him.”

“How?” Hound demands. “Blue can’t guide you to Prowl when he’s probably running from Shockwave!”

Before Jazz can retort, he hears another explosion, followed by a very familiar laugh. “More like making Shockwave chase his own tail.” Prowl says easily. He puts his hand on Jazz’s shoulder, and the smaller mech almost sags against him in relief. It’s definitely Prowl – Jazz is close enough to be able to feel his spark signature. 

Blue grins. “19 minutes, 30 seconds.”

Prowl laughs again. “Damn, Blue. Called it. Is medical on standby?”

“Yep. Just waiting for us to get back to base.”

“I think that will buy us the time to limp back.” He squeezes Jazz’s shoulder, but doesn’t let go, and for that Jazz is grateful. “Come on. Let’s get back home.”


	29. the things we put up with

Bluestreak is the only mech not suffering from the effects of the dampener.

Mirage and Hound have been sequestered away in one of the medbay’s private rooms. They have been for the better part of two days, and no one has attempted to bother them. Ratchet won’t even let Jazz in there, and he’s the team leader. Jazz knows enough about bonds and dampeners to simply request his updates from Ratchet himself. 

Bee got lucky. He hasn’t been in ops long enough to have too much specialized equipment. It only takes about half a day for his internal repair systems to work their magic and return sensation to his plating.

Jazz and Prowl weren’t quite as lucky. Jazz’s visor is shot, and it’ll take a few more days for Ratchet to make him a new one. Until then, he’s blind – and consequently confined to medbay. Prowl’s doorwings need to be completely rewired, and of course being doorwings, Ratchet has to handle that himself instead of letting Prowl’s internal repairs do the job.

Which would have been made a lot easier if Prowl didn’t also have smoke and fire damage. Ratchet examines the damage done to his right doorwing at the joint. At first, he thought that was fire damage, but now he can see claw marks. He grimaces. “Another close call?” he asks quietly.

“That actually wasn’t Shockwave.” Prowl muses. “Apparently he has drones. Between the fire and the dampener, I never saw it coming.”

Jazz slides up behind Prowl and gently touches the damage, letting his fingers gauge the severity of the wound. His lips twist in a scowl. “How did that _not_ take yer doorwing off?”

“Pretty sure that’s what he was aiming for.” Prowl says easily. “The one plus side of the dampener is that nothing hurts. That and I move fast when I need to.” He flashes Jazz a grin the visored mech can’t see, but he can hear. “Ops luck.”

Ratchet sighs. “Well, it’s not bleeding anymore. That’s good. Give me a few minutes – I need to get some supplies from storage. That joint probably needs to be replaced, too.” With that he walks off. 

There’s a moment of silence after the door closes. Prowl is the one to break it. “You have something to say. So say it.”

Jazz crosses his arms over his chassis, fists clenched. “Might not be th’ best idea.”

“Maybe not, but you need to say it. And since when have we stood on propriety?”

That earns Prowl a dark look. “That ain’ th’ point.” Still, he sighs and looks away. “Ya know, it ain’ in yer job description ta run inta danger. It’s in mine.”

Prowl arches an optic ridge. “Your point?”

“Why do ya keep doin’ it?” Jazz finally lifts his helm to face Prowl. Despite the dark visor, he’s locked on to the Praxian’s position. “Why do ya keep runnin’ straight inta danger like that? Ya played right inta Shockwave’s hands!”

“Do you really expect me to stay away when I can help?”

“That’s why ya stay at th’ checkpoint. Ya know, _where Shockwave can’ kill ya._ ”

Prowl doesn’t even bother to acknowledge that one. “The feed was cut. The dampener kept me from being able to even track you. More importantly, I lost communications with the entire team.”

“Ya shoulda gone fer help. Ah can’ believe Ah’m sayin’ this, but that’s protocol, Prowler!” His hands start to shake. “Th’ TO is th’ most important position on th’ team. Ya know that – take down tac, ya take down th’ team!”

He sounds like he wants to yell. His body language screams of pent-up frustration and anger. For a brief moment, Prowl wonders if it’s worth triggering the impending blow-out. It’s clear this is about far more than Prowl’s importance to the team. However, this really isn’t the time or the place. 

“And if I had followed protocol?” he asks quietly. “You see the damage done to Mirage and Hound already. You were being tortured. How long before Shockwave moved on to Bee? How long before he got curious and decided to open up Mirage or Hound?” He takes a step forward, optics darkening. “Would they have even lived long enough for help to arrive?”

“So ya jus’ decided ta take things on yerself then?”

“Pretty much. It worked, didn’t it?”

“It shouldn’ have. Ya should have died back there.”

Prowl offers a crooked grin. “Ops luck.”

Jazz can’t help a choked laugh. “Will ya do me a favor an’ at least _pretend_ like yer gonna follow orders next time?”

“If I could, I would.” Prowl shakes his helm. “But unless we find a way to counteract the dampener, Hound and Mirage have to stay on the outside. Blue probably will as well. That means you’re going to need another mech on the ground, and you know it’s gonna be me.”

Jazz scowls, then sighs. “Well, it was nice ta dream.”

Silence falls between them again. Once again, Prowl breaks it. “When this is over, we’re going to have the conversation you _really_ want to have.”

Jazz doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “Ya mean when Shockwave is dead or the war is over?”

Prowl offers a smile he’s not particularly feeling. “Shockwave. We both know that for mechs like us, this war will probably never be over.”

“Yeah, yer right.” Jazz sighs. “Let’s just kill this bastard, shall we? Then we’ll worry about everythin’ else.”

“Deal.”


	30. wheeljack's return

This is _not_ a conversation Optimus is looking forward to.

Gunner walks beside him, clearly not pleased. “He’s not going to give Wheeljack up.” he says darkly. “Not without a damn good reason.”

“I think we can all agree that getting around that dampener so we can kill Shockwave is a damn good reason.” Prime says mildly. “The team just got out of medbay – I don’t think Ratchet wants to see them back in so soon.”

Gunner sighs. “No. And with the dampener, Hound and Mirage are useless. Even if Wheeljack does find a way around the dampener, it’ll probably still screw with their bond.”

“Which means they’ll have to stay outside until the dampener is destroyed.” Optimus agrees. “From Prowl’s report, it pulls a lot of energy from the lab. Destroying it will cause severe damage to the structure, no matter how they do it.”

“And announce their presence with a very big boom.” comes the dry response. “Lovely. We really need a method that involves subtlety.”

“It’s Jazz’s team, and Prowl’s planning the mission. Good luck with that.” Gunner just groans at Prime’s assessment. Prime continues. “At least everyone is out of the medbay. From what I’ve gathered, Blue and the Twins have been running interference for the rest of the team.”

“Yeah. Blue was the only one not injured, Bee close behind. Bee got Jumper and the rest of the minis on keeping everyone from bothering Hound and Mirage too much. Since they’re still on light duty, the minis have taken to relieving them of duty early when they can.” At Prime’s look, Gunner shrugs. “Hey, even the most stubborn mech has to admit he’s wrong sometime.”

“Smokescreen.”

“Yeah, well, Smokey’s a special kind of stupid.” Optimus punches him lightly in the arm. Gunner doesn’t even flinch as he continues. “Look, I know he’s gonna be your TO, but the mech ain’t the fastest circuit in the processor, now is he? Especially with the way he keeps heckling Jazz and Prowl.”

“Anyone ever tell you your accent comes out when you’re annoyed?” Prime wonders absently. “That explains why the Twins are pranking him again.”

“The Twins actually _like_ ops as opposed to just tolerate them.” Gunner reminds him. “And if that’s true, then I always have an accent. I’m eternally annoyed. Pretty sure it’s part of my personality programming now.” Optimus chuckles at that, and the two of them walk into the conference room. Ironhide is already there waiting on them, and the main vid screen has Ultra Magnus on it. Gunner scowls. “Efficient as ever.”

“I try. Who fragged you off? You sound a little like Jazz now.” Ironhide teases.

Optimus leaves them to it. “Hello, Magnus.”

_“Prime. What do you need?”_

Well, that solves the problem of easing into his request. “Wheeljack.”

Magnus resets his optics. _“You want my scientist?”_

Optimus shrugs. “You’re not using him. I’m sure you’ve gotten the reports by now about Shockwave and the mess we made of his lab.”

That earns him a snort. _“I have. I also know why Shockwave is suddenly a problem. You know, there’s a really simple way of solving this matter.”_

Optimus really wants to snap at him. It takes effort to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And what would that be?”

_“Make Prowl install a new computer.”_

That’s actually something Prime considered, but he knows better than to ask Prowl to do it. He has his suspicions about Prowl and his computer, and he’s not sure if he really wants to know if he’s right. “From what I understand, that’s a very elaborate set up that we probably don’t have time to deal with right now. Besides, I don’t like the idea of Shockwave operating in my backyard.”

_“We have bigger things to worry about than Shockwave. Intel says Megatron may be planning something big.”_

Ironhide loses patience. “Then let Starscream screw him out of it.” he snaps. “I’m more concerned about the mech that Megatron is actually afraid of.” Suddenly, he smirks. “Or is it because Jack has been requesting transfer to Prime’s unit for almost as long as Chromia has?”

Magnus looks like he would like to punch Ironhide in the face. Optimus would actually pay good credits to see that happen. There’s a reason Ironhide is SIC, and it’s not because of his interpersonal skills. “This isn’t about a transfer – yet. This is about our ops team needing Jack’s expertise to get around a dampener. That’s all.”

The other mech scowls. _“I want him back as soon as you’re done with him.”_

Optimus offers a half-smile. “Of course. As soon as I’m done with him.” With that he signs off.

Ironhide gives him a look. “Prime?”

“What? I said I would, as soon as I’m done with him.” His smile turns positively cunning. “The science division may decide they need his expertise. You know, we wouldn’t want to waste good, now would we?”

Gunner actually laughs at that. “Times like this, I can see Prowl in ya.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Prime says breezily. “Times like this, I can hear the Polyhex in you.” He turns away from the monitors. “Come on. I think Ratchet would like to know that his bondmate is coming back to Iacon.”

Ironhide grins. “They’ll be able to hear the groaning in Syph.”

“Yeah, until Jack actually gets here.” Gunner chuckles. “Then he’ll still groan and complain, but he’ll be smiling while he does it.”

Optimus just smiles to himself as they head down to the medbay. Either way, the next few months are going to be interesting.


End file.
